


Susan's Story

by LovesFrogs



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Always a King or Queen, Dead Edmund Pevensie, Dead Lucy Penensie, Dead Peter Pevensie, Despite the relationship tag, Enemies!Susan and Tom, Evil!Tom Riddle, Evil!Voldemort, Forgiveness, Gen, Good!Susan, Grieving Susan, Growing Up, Libraries, Motherly!Susan, OC Orphans, OCs - Freeform, Pre-Canon (Harry Potter), Small Children Make Everything Better, Susan at Tom's Orphanage, Susan finds magic, life after Narnia, like at all, once a king or queen of Narnia, this does not redeem Tom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-03-03 22:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovesFrogs/pseuds/LovesFrogs
Summary: Susan was left alone. She had no family and nowhere to go, not counting Eustace's parents who rejected her out of anger and grief. The only place left (according to the police, anyway) was the orphanage.Tom just wanted to be free. Too bad he had to wait another year before he was of age. Instead he had to return to that joyless place where he grew up, only... why does something seem off about that new girl?Or, what happens when the loveless, power-hungry young man meets the Gentle Queen who rejected her kingdom, and how their lives continue to collide.





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wondered what happened to Susan after she was left behind. I don't know how old the children were by the end of the Narnia books canonically, but I've always pictured Susan as about 16 with no family and nowhere to go. Then I realized that she and Tom would be roughly close to the same age (at least enough that no one would care too much if I fudged it a little to make them the same) and this story was born. Not really sure how long it's going to be or where it going to go, but... it exists. So yeah.

Tom Riddle looked out over the sodden gray streets of London flying past the window of the cab. Tourists ran for shelter from the heavy storm, clutching packages and scurrying around like so many meaningless ants building a shelter only to have it trodden underfoot and destroyed. Shadowy green raindrops spattered the glass in front of him, and he longed to curse them away. If only he were seventeen already. The thin stick of wood that was his wand beckoned to him from inside the beat up trunk beside him, but Tom made no move to reach for it. He knew there would forever be a dark blot next to his common muggle name if he were convicted of performing magic outside of school before the age of seventeen. Especially if Albus Dumbledore, the old coot, had anything to say about it. 

Wheels ground to a halt as the cab pulled up in front of a tall and dreary building, dragging the young man away from his ponderings. To most people the building was a shabby-but-clean orphanage made of hard lines and hard knocks for those unfortunate enough to end up staying within its walls. For Tom, it was a prison that he was confined to for the next three months. 

He gathered his battered trunk and towed it behind him, shoving as little money as possible over to the heavy-set driver before climbing out of the cab and watching it drive away. The tires splashed muddy water onto his trousers. Tom scowled and turned away, the sickly yellow light of the lamp posts reflecting off of his dark hair, already hanging wetly down his forehead and the back of his neck. He glanced back at the retreating cab, and his handsome face took on a cold and calculating look. Someday… But this was not the time, nor the place for such musings. Tom squared his shoulders, turned on his heel, and walked into the orphanage with his chin up and his mood black as the storm.  
Mrs. Cole, the matron, opened the door for him and scowled.

“You come back like the plague, you do.” Her sharp features were emphasized in the evening shadows. She had never liked him. “Well, come in. No use standing out there in the rain and getting soaked.”

“I’ll be returning to my old room,” he said coldly. “After this summer you will not be seeing me again.”  
She gave him a hard once-over. “No skin off my nose as long as you look legal. Once you’re gone it’ll free up a bit more space. Be safe though, got it? You don’t want to get caught out there before you’re eighteen.” A bit of concern may have been hinted in her voice, but not near enough for her to try to keep him in this hole.  
Tom gave a stiff nod and continued on his way, a shabby maid scuttling past like a rat as he strode forward. What filth.

Almost nothing had changed since his previous summer here. Mrs. Cole was still in charge, ruling with one iron fist and clutching a bottle of brandy in the other. Hard and thin little boys still stayed in rooms with hard and thin little beds. Plain, patched-up little girls still wore plain, patched-up little dresses. All of their lives were pitiful and meaningless here, spent trying to claw their way to the top of the totem pole in a dump, and everyone learned quickly that you learned to be tricky and cunning or you paid for your ignorance. So dirty. So worthless. I will show them what real power looks like.

Tom made his way up several rickety staircases until he came to his own room, plain and bare. The shadows danced sinisterly on the gray walls when he opened the door, but Tom paid them no heed. He had conquered far more than shadows. Instead, he let the lamp flicker on and set down his trunk with a thump. The room was not dusty--no doubt someone of lesser rank than he had claimed it while he had been gone. They would be punished.

With absolutely no desire to leave his room and associate with the muggles, Tom was left with little to do but unpack his trunk. His few articles of clothing went into the empty wardrobe, along with several books that Tom carefully placed on the top shelf. His school books, quills, and homework went onto the desk--one of the few that was supposed to be available for all. Tom had quietly snuck it in here one night last summer, and no one dared refute his ownership of it. Finally, he took out his wand. Thirteen inches, yew and phoenix feather, it was his only true companion. It alone could not betray him, because he controlled it utterly. If only the muggles would realize that they were worth less, even, than this, they might yet learn some respect for him. Tom pocketed it. He had already taken a step on the path to immortality, and once he came of age in the winter he would never be under anyone’s authority ever again. Just a few more months.

***

The girl had long dark hair and light eyes shadowed with sadness. Many might have called her beautiful had she not looked so morose and road-weary. As it was, people turned away from her red-rimmed eyes and tearstained cheeks and tried to ignore her rumpled clothes and the carpetbag she carried. Clutched in the girl’s hands was a single book--a journal. 

Seemingly in contrast with the girl’s melancholy state, the cover of the journal had been decorated with bright, abstract designs and colors. A name had been printed near the top in careful calligraphy. Lucy Pevensie. 

The sad girl had not yet brought herself to open the journal. She knew that her little sister would never write in it again.


	2. Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Susan gets a phone call.

Susan Pevensie had never ignored a phone call in her life; every one was like a new chance for something important to happen. Immediately when she heard the shrill ringing noise, Susan would pop up like a jack-in-the-box and hurry over to the phone. She knew it was foolish, but she couldn’t help but wonder: Will this be the call that changes my life? My future husband on the phone, or my future boss or best friend? It was natural to feel such things, Susan knew. It was what normal 16-year-old girls did.

These same excited thoughts were racing through her mind when she picked up the phone on a sunny Tuesday not long after school had got out. Oh, to have missed that call!

“Hello, Susan Pevensie speaking.”

“Hello, Miss Pevensie. My name is Walter Brown and I work for the police department.”

“Why--?”

“I’m afraid that there has been a terrible accident.”

The phone clattered to the floor.  
.  
.  
The train had crashed.   
.  
.  
The train she knew her brothers and sister had been riding on.   
.  
.  
Peter, magnificent and chivalrous; Edmund, thoughtful and just; Lucy, valiant and innocent; they were all gone.   
.  
.  
Her parents, dear Mother and Father, had been riding the same train. So, too, had the kind Professor Kirke, who had taken them in during the War when they had first made up the wonderful land of Narnia, and the Professor’s good friend, Aunt Polly, and Cousin Eustace and his friend Jill Pole, whom Susan had hardly ever met. 

Gone. All of them. 

Not one left for Susan to cry with or grieve with or make arrangements with.

She had lost everything.

The phone lay broken at her feet.  
.  
.  
.  
The house was full of memories. The smell of her mother, the mud stains Peter had left on the doormat, the wilting flower Lucy had set on the table only two days ago. Two days! 

Susan moved with cold numbness, sweeping up the pieces of the telephone that had broken off and throwing them in the dustbin. Her head felt as if it were full of fog. It wasn’t true--couldn’t be true!--but the police officer, Walter Brown, had told her what they had found. 

Her parents and the Professor and Aunt Polly had all been carrying identification on them, and no one but her siblings would be wearing those bracelets that they had made ages ago, the ones reading the wearer’s name followed by “of Narnia” in bright red thread, like the officer said they had. Susan had always loved logic, and now both logic and a police officer were telling her the others were gone.

The house seemed unfamiliar without them in it. Susan stood up and wandered aimlessly, searching for something of them to hold onto, something real. She found herself outside Lucy’s door.

She twisted the doorknob, and it rattled in the unsettling quiet. Susan entered her sister’s room more cautiously than she ever had when her sister was… here. The room looked the same as it always had. Cheerful yellow walls mocked her, laughed that her sister was gone! 

Susan hated them.

Lucy’s small radio sat in the corner, still playing quiet music because her sister always forgot to turn it off. Happy music. 

Susan hated that, too. 

How dare the radio play upbeat, cheerful tunes when her family was dead? How dare the sun shine, how dare flowers bloom, how dare they! They should be black and mourning as Susan was! Nothing should be radiant because Lucy was the most radiant thing Susan knew of, and now she was gone! Nothing could be just, because Edmund the Just had died! Everything magnificent should have disappeared in one moment because Peter was no longer there to be the most magnificent of all!

And what would they think of her now? The last words she had spoken to them… oh gosh!

They had been fighting. Susan was getting ready for a meeting with a boy from her class by the name of Richard. She had spent all afternoon getting ready, and was sure she would be able to impress him with her beauty and intelligence. Maybe soon he would ask her on a real date! At least, that’s what she had thought. The others had been all rushing off in a tizzy to see the old Professor about something or other, and Edmund had tripped on the way out and fallen into her. Her dress had gotten dirty and her makeup smeared and she had yelled at him about ruining everything, and what would Mother say, pushing over a lady like that?

Peter had gotten involved. He had tried to calm her, but she hadn’t wanted to be calmed. If only she had held him close, apologized, and gone with them! Then they would still be together and she wouldn’t have to deal with this horrible fallout alone. 

Completely alone.

Susan had never gone to meet Richard that day. She had been too ashamed of her appearance, and had gone inside to wash up, cursing Edmond all the while. Richard would never meet with her again after she had missed their appointment like that, she had been sure, and she groaned and moped for the rest of the day by herself.

She had got up that morning and waited for her siblings to return. To pick a fight or make up, Susan didn’t really care. And then the phone had rung. Lucy’s yellow walls glared at her.

She had yelled at Lucy too, when her sister had stood nearby and stared. Had said terrible things, just to get rid of all the pressure inside of her to grow up and be a proper lady. A normal lady who didn’t get rebuked for believing in things. Even then, Susan had known the fight had been brewing for ages, because the others could not let go of their childish games. 

Oh to be back in time, playing those games again!

A half-strangled sound that may have been a sob broke out of her throat and Susan grabbed the nearest object and threw it with all her might at the offensive yellow walls in front of her.

The hardcover book put a small dent in the wall and fell, hitting the radio and knocking it down as well. The resulting crash was even louder than the sound the phone had made hours before.

The music stopped.

Susan sat, breathing heavily in the sudden silence and staring at what she had done. Lucy’s journal had fallen on the radio, a new dent violently marring the book’s cover. She crawled over and picked it up again, much more reverently than before. This was a treasure now. She could find out what Lucy had thought of her, of her trying to grow up properly. She could keep a piece of her sister with her. The bright cheerful cover did not anger her. It was just too... Lucy. Instead, Susan did the only other thing she was capable of in that moment. She broke down and cried.

***

Lucy’s journal was the only thing that was clear for Susan over the next week. She brought it to the Macready house when the old housekeeper asked for her help arranging the funerals for the Professor and Aunt Polly. She carried it through her house while she packed up things in boxes with Aunt Alberta, to be stored up in the attic. She clutched it all through the funeral, her black-clad figure trembling beside the coffins as she wished with all her might for a second chance. And she held it close as the bony woman escorted her to the orphanage that would be her home until she came of age in two years. Eustace’s parents had not even wanted her, instead lashing out at her siblings for Eustace’s death.

Susan hadn’t opened the journal yet. She was afraid of what it might say.


	3. Third

Tom studied the girl from the top of the stairs. She was pretty, no doubt about that. Her long black hair hung straight and lush, and her pale blue eyes stood out brightly in contrast. But her looks were not what interested him. She had arrived several days before, clutching nothing but a worn carpetbag and a little book. Her face had been pale, and he doubted she’d gotten any sleep in a long while. That, however, was neither unique nor interesting at an orphanage, and could not be the source of Tom’s strange feelings about her either. He studied her closely as she took a bowl of gruel from the serving girl and made her way over to a corner to eat. Four days, and she had yet to speak to any of the other orphans.

Tom was drawn to her and repulsed by her in equal measure, and he needed to know why. The girl was a muggle; he had never seen her at Hogwarts, and she seemed to speak English, though precious few had heard her say any words. She appeared to be of above average intelligence, but as she was nowhere near his own level and had no knowledge of magic, he deduced that she could be neither a threat nor a help in the long run. There was no reason for him to even notice this muggle girl... so why had he?

He paced back to his room and began walking back and forth, kicking up bits of dirt from the floor. Perhaps the girl had magic, but had never gone to school? Or what if she was some sort of magical creature in disguise, a descendant of a veela or vampire? And how was he to find out more when the only words she had spoken had been her name and age to Mrs. Cole on the very first day?

There was nothing for it. He would have to charm the information out of this girl, if only for his peace of mind about what she was. Magic is forbidden to me at the moment, he thought slyly, but there are other ways to charm.

Tom walked downstairs for the meal that night with a purpose. Small grubby children got out of his way, and no one dared look him in the eye when his strides were so fierce and predatory. They only prayed they would not be his victims tonight. Their fear was quite intoxicating.

Finally, he made it down to the main kitchen area. The old gruel was about as appetizing as ever, meaning not at all. Still, Tom put on his most attractive face and headed over, even thanking the maid for the food (she blushed) after he saw that the strange muggle girl was close enough to hear him do it. She was still sitting on the floor in a corner all alone (there weren’t chairs for even close to all of the orphans there), and she was watching him. Perfect.

Tom made his way over to her and sat down.

***

The orphanage was everything Susan would have expected, had she been thinking about it on the way over. Shabby but spotlessly clean, it reminded her far too much of an old beaver dam, but without the clutter or warmth. Now where had that thought come from? Susan shook her head and returned her eyes once more to the open door, pushing thoughts of friendly beavers to the back of her mind. She took another spoonful of the brownish gruel that was served to everyone and made a face. She could have eaten better than this at home by herself! But there was nothing to be done about it now, so she sighed and ate.

Lucy’s journal was sitting next to her, as always. Susan was too afraid to read what Lucy had written about her older sister, but too grief-stricken to let the last piece of her sister out of her sight. Four days in this orphanage, and she had no friends and no one to talk to. The journal was all she had.

The sound of someone thanking the serving maid drew her out of her morose reverie, and she looked over to see who had spoken. Not many people bothered to notice the demure young scullery maid. A tall, handsome boy about her age was leaving the line. Susan felt her heart beat a little faster in spite of herself. He had dark hair and pale skin, and his features seemed almost… noble, in a way. He moved with an easy grace away from the large vats of gruel and came, to her surprise, over to her empty place against the wall.

“Hello,” said the boy. His voice was low and velvety. “My name is Tom. May I join you?”

Susan nodded. Tom slid down onto the floor beside her, with about a foot in between them.

“I heard you haven’t talked since you got here,” Tom said. She glanced at him. “Why not?”

He couldn’t possibly think she would tell him, could he? She glared at him for his audacity and straightened a bit, lifting her chin as if angry in a dignified sort of way. The response was an impulse, but Susan felt queenly when she did it. Tom raised an eyebrow; his expression did not change.

“I see. I know your name is Susan, right?” She nodded suspiciously. “I wanted to ask if you needed anything. You don’t seem to quite know the ins and outs of this place yet, so maybe I could give you a tour?” He scooched a bit closer. “That is, if you want.”

Tom smiled at her, and Susan felt a warm blush start to stain her cheeks before she saw his eyes. The cheerful color drained from her face once more, and Susan shivered just a little. His eyes were cold and piercing, and his handsome smile did not reach them. Something in those eyes seemed strangely familiar, and not in a good way, but Susan knew she’d never seen Tom before now. 

“No?” he asked. She shook her head and his expression flickered, as if annoyed, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, so Susan could not be sure she had seen it. “Well, just think about it okay? My room’s the first door on the right of the third floor if you ever need a hand.”

Susan nodded, sneaking another quick glance at him. He really was quite handsome, and without his cold eyes focused on her own, Susan wondered if she could trust what she had seen. Maybe she had misinterpreted a look of shyness for malice?

Tom stood up, empty bowl in hand, though Susan had not really registered him eating it. Her own gruel was stone cold, but she wasn’t hungry anyway. She hadn’t been hungry since the phone call. Tom offered a hand to help her up and Susan took it, grabbing Lucy’s journal in her other hand. As soon as their fingers touched, Susan felt a jolt of fear rush through her. She had only felt this way once before. Tom’s soul was tainted and destroyed just like… like…

Susan fell back against the wall and clutched her head. Like the White Witch. That’s who those eyes had reminded her of. And if Tom was another evildoer as bad at the Witch had been...

“Aslan, please.” It came out a whisper, a reflex that she could not control.

Tom recoiled at the sound and she shot off to her room. The journal was clutched tightly in her hands, and her half-full bowl was still sitting on the floor where she had been. Susan kept running.

Up stairs, past open doors and surprised children, until she came to her own room. She shut and locked the door, then flung herself onto the bed and wept. 

That name hadn’t fallen from her lips in years, but now it was her final thread of protection against a strange evil in a young man’s eyes. And Aslan was real. Susan could feel the truth in her bones despite having denied it for so long. 

When she had uttered the name a horrible guilt had shot through her, but also a terrible love. The guilt was hers, and she deserved it for forgetting Narnia and abandoning her siblings, but she knew the love was from Aslan. Aslan, whom Lucy had believed in for so long, even after the others all lost faith. 

His love was terrible because He still loved her and she had betrayed Him utterly and she knew it. But the love was still there anyway, waiting for her to remember it. Oh how terrible she had been to Aslan and her siblings and all the citizens of Narnia! How could such a traitor ever have been known as the Gentle Queen? Surely she was Queen no longer. Aslan had made himself known to her once more, but she did not deserve even that. There was no way she would ever be able to earn His love once more.  
Susan shifted on the bed. The pages of the journal rustled, catching her eye. The clasp holding the book shut had opened when she had jumped onto the bed and Susan looked at the page with reckless abandon. How could she feel worse now?

_Last night I dreamed of the day we were crowned at Cair Paravel. The old castle looked just like it used to, with the tapestries hanging on the walls and the four thrones all lined up. The sky was blue and the mermaids were all singing from the ocean and Aslan was there too. Mr. Tumnus did the actual crowning, but the beavers and all the other Talking Animals were cheering for us, and also the dwarves and the other fauns. Everyone was so happy the Witch was gone, but I think Aslan said the most important thing about it before the ceremony ever happened. “Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen.” He said that in my dream just like I remembered. It has given me hope since we returned the first time._

_I wonder, has a true King or Queen ever fallen away and needed to be reminded? It’s hard to believe that such a thing could happen in Narnia, but then, it’s certainly happened in many countries in our world. And King Miraz was certainly far from where he was supposed to be, but then, he was never a true King in the first place._

_Sometimes I wonder if Susan still remembers being a queen, or if (Aslan forbid) she is trying to forget about it all. I know Peter and Ed think about it often, but Susan has tried to pull away of late. She was terribly hurt when Aslan told her and Peter they couldn’t return to Narnia. At first she seemed depressed, but now she ignores any mention of it and laughs it off if it’s brought up._

_Doesn’t she remember that she will always be a queen in Narnia? I hope so. Aslan doesn’t give up on anyone. Not Edmund when he betrayed us and not the DLF when he didn’t believe in lions and certainly not Susan, even if she tries to forget. I’m worried she will succeed in forgetting, if she tries hard enough._

_Lucy Pevensie_

Tearstains dotted the page and Susan cried harder. I’m sorry Lucy, Aslan. I did forget. And now they’re all gone. She cried herself to sleep that night.

When Susan woke up the next morning, she felt as if a weight had lifted off her shoulders. She was still powerfully sad, but she felt as if her apologies had been heard. Almost as if Aslan and her siblings had forgiven her. 

She looked out at the morning sun rising, and made a vow, deep in her heart. It was one of the most solemn and serious vows she ever made, and she made it to Lucy, Aslan, Peter, Edmund, and all the friends of Narnia. And, Susan understood slowly, that included herself.


	4. Fourth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehhh... sorry I haven't posted in forever... I gave up fan fiction for Lent...

_What in the name of Merlin was that all about?_ Tom was pacing in his room, thinking about the mysterious Susan. Again. She had successfully baffled him, and if there was one thing Tom Riddle hated, it was not understanding something. There was a reason he had had top marks in his examinations.

But no matter how much he considered and rationalized and told himself that she was a filthy muggle anyway, Tom couldn’t stop thinking about the name that tore at him like a hungry lion. Aslan. That was what the girl had said. Even thinking of it now made Tom shudder in disgust and something like fear.

But it was not fear. Tom Marvolo Riddle, known to precious few as Lord Voldemort, was afraid of nothing, much less a strange, probably imaginary, muggle name.

The girl and the Name she had uttered probably had nothing to do with the sudden shiver he had gotten, Tom decided. It had been a draft. Of course! The orphanage was very drafty on windy days, so a gust must have caught him unawares as he stood and helped the girl up. That was all. And to prove it, he would speak to her again.

Yes, Tom nodded to himself, that’s what he’d do. The girl was no threat and of no interest, he just needed to prove to himself that the Name had meant nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

***

It was days later when he cornered her again. Tom had seen the slight tinge to the girl’s cheeks when he had smiled at her. He didn’t know what had gone wrong before she said the Name, but he knew he was attractive, and he knew how to use it. He was the pride of Slytherin house, after all.

“Hello, Susan,” he smiled charmingly at her. A short boy, no older than five, scuttled quickly down the steps behind him.

The girl looked at him with an emotion somewhere between panic and loathing. Inwardly, he made a note of it to be thought about later. Outwardly, he ignored it.

“You never came to say hello after our conversation the other day,” Tom continued, casually leaning next to her. Her fists clenched, but Tom couldn’t tell whether it was due to nerves, anger, or some strange mix of the two. “I thought we were going to be friends?”

_As if he could ever be a friend to common muggle trash…_ “What’s the matter? Still not talking, Susan?”

The girl looked directly into his eyes for the first time, and openly glared. Stay away from me. Tom could read it in her eyes. Well. That was a challenge if he ever saw one.

“It must be so hard, what with the accident and all,” Tom ventured, coating his voice with poisonous sympathy. “I don’t remember my family at all you know.” Slowly he took her slender hand in his own. Hers was cold. Susan was backed against a wall, and he stood beside her, leaning his shoulder against the wall. He decided to speak again. “I was born in this very orphanage. Mrs. Cole told me the story when she thought I was old enough to hear it, but I got it out of the maid years before then.

“My mother was very poor and very pregnant when she arrived here, begging for shelter very late on New Year’s Eve. Mrs. Cole said she thought my mother loved my father, but not the other way around. I don’t know anything else about either of my parents, except that my father’s name was Tom and my mother’s father was called Marvolo. I’m named for both of them. My mother had just enough time to tell Mrs. Cole what my name was to be before she passed away. I’ve been here ever since.”

Tom gave a breathy sigh and looked up at the ceiling. He blinked a few times to make his eyes water and turned toward Susan again. She was looking at him appraisingly, and then suddenly seemed to realize Tom was still holding her hand. Carefully, she reached down to the floor and grabbed the journal that lay there, the one she was always carrying around. She didn’t let go of Tom’s steady hand.

Tom smirked, but covered the expression before the girl could see.

“This was my sister’s.”

Progress. If he could get the girl to speak to him freely, he could use almost anything she said to his advantage. He squeezed her hand slightly and shot her an encouraging look.

Suddenly, Susan’s eyes hardened. “She would have hated you.” The whisper was cold and clear. It took Tom a moment to register what she had said. In that moment, Susan tore her hand out of his and hit him with the journal, already running away.

It burned.

Tom clutched his shoulder where the sharp corner of the book had come into contact with his skin, cursing. Why had she run? He had told the truth and shown proper emotion on his face. The act had worked on several girls before, so what had Susan seen that had made her think twice? Had he shown some minute sign of his true motives? No, his facade had been perfect. But she had run anyway. No, not only run away; she had actually tried to hurt him as she escaped, like a sniveling coward! As if some muggle girl could harm _him_ in the slightest!

Carefully, Tom removed his hand from his arm and looked down. His eyes widened. Just where the book had hit him, there was a small, blistering burn.

***

Susan panted. She had finally made it back to her room, and her reckless rage had cooled mostly into horrified hysteria. She had just hit Tom Riddle with Lucy’s journal and fled, makeshift weapon in hand, to her own room. What was she going to do now?

Susan sat on the hard unyielding mattress and rocked back and forth, clutching the journal to her chest. Tom Riddle ruled this place; even she could see that, and she had only been here for scarcely over a week! Now she had alienated him. Although, Susan had to admit to herself, if she was going to plant herself strongly against anyone here, it would be Tom Riddle. Tom, who was handsome and charming and sensitive on the outside, but had cold, dead eyes and a soul that was torn and blackened with hate.

If anyone had asked her, Susan would not have been able to explain the feeling continually warning her away from Tom. Certainly he had been nothing but polite and helpful in both of their encounters thus far. Still, a deep feeling of unease settled in her gut whenever she laid eyes on him, and the feeling seemed to grow in intensity the closer she was holding Lucy’s journal.

The journal.

Susan hadn’t looked in it since that one horrible, tear-filled night when she had remembered Aslan and her terrible guilt in forgetting him. But the journal had given her hope when she had read it before, and, in a strange twist, Lucy had turned out to be the wisest of all of them. Maybe her sister would provide unknowing advice, like a helpful ghost or remnant of Lucy appearing to show her the way to move on.

Ever so slowly, ever so gently, Susan opened the clasp and let the journal fall open. She could hear Lucy’s voice saying the words as if her sister was sitting beside her and reading the journal aloud.

_I heard some very good advice before our first battle even began. In fact, it was back with the beavers in their cosy little dam. “When you meet anything that’s going to be human and isn’t yet, or used to be human once and isn’t now, or ought to be human and isn’t, you keep your eyes on it and feel for your hatchet.” This advice is a bit strange now that I’m back in England, but I think there are people fit Mr. Beaver’s description if you look hard enough. Like the man who started the second World War, Adolf Hitler. I believe he started human, but then wasn’t anymore. The problem is, the bad ones are much harder to spot in England, where everyone looks like a person at first._ _Unfortunately, I also am inclined to think that dear Mr. Beaver didn’t realize how few people in England carry around a hatchet nowadays, so I will have to keep my little pocket knife hidden with me instead. Imagine if Mother found out!_  
_Peter is calling. I must leave for now!  
_ _Lucy Pevensie_

___Susan hugged the book to her chest once more. Oh, dear Lucy, you have helped more than you know. For of course, that must be the truth behind Tom. He ought to be human, but he just plain wasn’t. Susan wondered fleetingly if he had used to be human, before his eyes turned cold and he made the part of her connected to Aslan and her siblings shrink away in disgust. Then she sighed, standing up and moving over to the open window, leaving the journal carefully placed on her bed. What he used to be didn’t really matter anymore._ _ _

___The sky was a brilliant blue. The summer air was infectious for all the young ones, and they played loudly outside in the streets. Susan watched them. Always on the edge of her vision there seemed to be a phantom Peter, learning to spar or ride. Sometimes a young Edmund seemed to be in the crowd of boys, showing them card tricks and running behind cars and horses. Susan turned away again. She couldn’t bear to think of them, but she couldn’t live with herself if she let herself forget them again._ _ _

___Peter the Magnificent. Edmund the Just. Lucy the Valiant. Three pillars of different talents, holding up her world before they came crashing down. And Susan, having not taken care of the very things holding her up, had fallen hard when they were gone. They had been the true kings and queen all the time._ _ _

___Not just them, a voice seemed to whisper. It sounded like Lucy. _You were a true queen too, Susan the Gentle! You were just lost for a little while. Be that great queen again, and see how far your life will take you.__ _ _

___The voice was right. Susan ignored the fact that hearing voices was a commonly accepted symptom of madness, and returned to her sister’s journal._ _ _

___If she was going to believe again, she was going to see how Lucy did it so well._ _ _


	5. Fifth

Hello! This is going to be my new journal for all things Narnia, Narnia, Narnia! The Professor has kindly gotten it for me to write my thoughts in (I think because he realised I could scarcely talk without mentioning Aslan or Mr. Tumnus or the Beavers.) It’s just so hard to come back to England and live in the Professor’s house as if nothing happened! We were in Narnia for years and years. In fact, I was nearly 23! And now we have to go back to pretending to know nothing more than we did before. I am not looking forward to going through puberty again…

But anyway, the Professor seems to think we’ll find our way back to Narnia again someday. I sure hope he’s right! Maybe we’ll be able to see our old friends again.  
Speaking of old friends, I hope everyone is alright after our disappearance. Mrs. Beaver must be so worried about us! Aslan, I sure hope you have reassured everyone that we’re fine! (Although knowing that Lion, he probably just gave them some mysterious advice and hope for the future instead.)

Time for dinner! I’ll write more again later.  
Lucy Pevensie   
.  
.  
I’m going to boarding school for the first time next week, and I’m not sure how to feel about that. 

Even Edmund has been before, though Susan and Peter said he was a right beast. I already knew that, of course; he got over it years ago! Well, years for us… but really only a month or two here. It’s so confusing sometimes! I wish I could just go back to Narnia and Aslan and Cair Paravel. I didn’t have to worry about English or Math or all those other things at boarding school in Narnia! I just hope I’ll be able to make some friends there. Please, please, please let them like me!

Lucy Pevensie  
.  
.  
Oh I’m so happy! We’ve been to Narnia once more, and made brand new friends with Prince (now King) Caspian! Not to mention the DLF (Dear Little Friend), Trumpkin the black dwarf! Although it was very sad and quite odd to realize how much time had passed since we were in Narnia before. 

Edmund figured it out. No one, except maybe Aslan, has any idea how time is going in one place when you’re in the other. As it turns out, about a thousand years had passed for Narnia since we had been there before! It was like King Arthur returning to England, except Narnia was having a war. 

Prince Caspian had to run away from his Uncle Miraz, who was trying to kill him because Caspian was the rightful King. Miraz took over Narnia after killing Caspian’s father and tried to exile all of the Old Narnians who remembered us and Aslan. They ended up blowing Su’s horn, and it called us back to Narnia. We helped Caspian gain back his throne, and even Aslan was there! I had almost forgotten how much I missed Him! 

Not only that, but Aslan practically promised Ed and I we could go back to Narnia again someday! Peter and Susan weren’t so lucky, though, and Aslan said they won’t go back again. Poor Peter and Su! I can’t imagine how they deal with it, but I have a feeling I’ll know before long…

We’re on the train to school now, but my nerves have all but disappeared. Aslan has a wonderful habit of doing that! Ed is trying to read this over my shoulder, and wants me to register his complaint that he left his brand new electric torch in Narnia in the ruins of Cair Paravel. There! I wrote it!

Oh Aslan. If only I could be with you all the time.

Lucy Pevensie  
.  
.  
Susan called Narnia “Just a Silly Game” today. I knew it was coming long ago, but it still hurt when she said it. She’s been under a lot of stress to grow up ‘proper’ I know, but that doesn’t mean she should forget about Narnia! After all, we learned a lot about being grown up when we were there the first time, and a little more the second time! Susan doesn’t seem to think so though. She’s too busy reading magazines and putting on makeup and making eyes at boys. I want my Gentle Royal Sister back! 

Peter said sometimes it’s hard to have faith when he won’t be seeing Aslan again. I told him Aslan didn’t say anything about not seeing Him again, just that they wouldn’t go back to Narnia! I think Peter liked that. He’s not going to forget like Su is so close to doing, I’ll make sure of it! What is Aslan without faith? Then again, maybe I’m just being too optimistic like Ed always says. I doubt it though. 

That’s all for now!

Lucy Pevensie  
.  
.  
Ed and I are stuck with our prat of a cousin Eustace over break! I still can hardly believe our bad luck! Eustace is as much of a beast as Ed ever was in the old days! Peter is staying with the Professor, but he had to leave his big mansion and doesn’t have room for the rest of us anymore. Susan gets to go to America with mother and father, something about how she’ll get more out of the trip than us. And of course, she had to act all smug about it and read a book about America. I even heard her telling one of the boys about her exciting trip! Eew! Oh well. Maybe me and Ed will manage to do something fun. You never know, after all. We’ve arrived at Aunt Alberta’s, so I’ll write more again later.

Lucy Pevensie  
.  
.  
Oh, I have so much to say! Ed and I got into Narnia again, and Eustace came with! He’s become ever so much better after he got turned into a dragon and realized what a bully he’d been. Only three years have passed for the Narnians this time, and Caspian was sailing out to the Lone Islands and beyond to find what had become of the seven nobles who supported his father. (Miraz sent them off to sea before overtaking the throne.) We sure had a lot of adventures, and I made even better friends with Reepicheep the mouse, who fought bravely to restore Caspian’s throne last time!

But when we reached the end of our adventure… oh, it was awful! Aslan was there, and he said Ed and I would never go back to Narnia, just like Peter and Susan! I will never see Caspian or Reepicheep or anyone from the Dawn Treader again, save Eustace and Edmund! Just now I don’t know how I’ll survive. My pen even feels heavy in my hand, and I think I will have to stop writing. Maybe the day will be brighter tomorrow.

Lucy Pevensie  
.  
.  
Sorry I haven’t written for quite some time. We finally saw Peter again yesterday, and Susan will be home tomorrow. Ed and I told Peter all about what happened in Narnia, and he seemed very impressed. He was also quite glad Caspian was alright. After Edmund left, I told him how sad I was and how Aslan said we could never go back, just like him. Peter was very understanding. He let me cry and everything, and when I was all out of tears he grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me right in the eye. 

“You’ve got to have faith in Aslan, Lu,” he told me. “He knows what he’s doing. He said we’d never go back, and I don’t doubt Him for a second, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still find Aslan hidden in our world as well. You’ve just got to look. Find that faith I know you have, and believe everything will work out alright. After all, you gave me hope in him when Susan was turning away.” 

I felt so much better, let me tell you. I watched the sunset last night, and for a second it was just the same color as Aslan’s mane. Flowers remind me of how he smelled, and it feels like a little blessing from him when I smell them! If there’s anything I’ve learned from Aslan, it’s that He makes everything work out no matter what, and having faith in Him is all we can do. So I will believe with all my heart that we will meet again! Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen!

Lucy Pevensie  
.  
.  
I have had a time! I finally got to meet Jill Pole, the girl Eustace was telling us about in his last letter. They got to go to Narnia and they rescued a Prince from an evil witch! Apparently he is the son of Caspian, though Eustace said Caspian passed away from old age during his time there. Imagine, energetic and brave Caspian as an old man! And Eustace didn’t even get to speak with him before he passed on! I hope he is happy in Aslan’s country, like Eustace said. It gives me hope for myself, Peter, Ed, and even Su as well.

Jill was simply lovely. She already knows quite a lot of Narnian constellations, and we talked about them over dinner for a long time. In fact, we were talking about them when a strange ghost or vision (we couldn’t figure out which) suddenly appeared at the end of the table! It looked like a man, and he seemed to be tied to something, because he stood stiffly and never moved from one spot. 

Peter stood up and questioned him, but he didn’t--or couldn’t--say anything before he faded away. He looked so very Narnian! Now we just have to figure out something to do about it. I sure hope Eustace and Jill will be able to help, because none of the rest of us can go back! 

Aslan, please help us save Narnia once again.

Lucy Pevensie  
.  
.  
Susan took a deep breath and tried not to cry on the precious paper in front of her. That had been the final entry, talking about the dinner and Jill Pole. Unfortunately, Susan knew what came next in the story all too well. Her relatives and Jill Pole had rushed home to grab some things and then headed for the train station with the Professor, probably hoping to find something to help them get to Narnia. But the train had crashed, and Susan’s world had crashed with it.

She looked back over the full little book she had read. There were hundreds of entries. She flipped back to one she remembered, finally finding it and setting it down to read again. It was the entry confirming the death of Caspian. In it, Eustace had told Lucy that Caspian had gone on to live in Aslan’s country. Was that where Lucy and the others were now, living in Aslan’s country with Caspian while she struggled to make it through each day at the orphanage? Was this to be her punishment? Susan glared at the book and slammed it closed, then threw herself into bed.

Aslan had called the others away. Why was she the one left alone, the one still here to pick up the sad and broken pieces? Why did she have to be the one to be strong and live all alone, even though all she wanted to do was give up? Aslan wasn’t here!

But… Peter had thought he was. In the traitorous journal, Lucy had written how he had comforted her and showed her signs of Aslan in London. The flowers… Lucy had set up flowers on the kitchen table before the accident. Had they reminded her of Aslan? Susan still remembered the beautiful softness and sweetness, the liquid color that made up Aslan’s mane. Lucy and Peter and Edmund had seen it in the sunset and smelled it in the flowers. Why couldn’t Susan do the same?

It was late. A nearly full moon was shining over the wet streets down on the ground, but Susan knew there was a tiny garden in the back of the orphanage. It had more weeds than flowers, and certainly none of the beautiful things Lucy had smelled, but… maybe… maybe it would help.

Susan blew out the candle resting on the ugly nightstand and crept out the door. The orphanage looked spooky and threatening without the light of day working its way through the windows. The wooden floor shifted and groaned under Susan’s bare feet, and she froze, heart pounding in her chest. Her white nightgown fluttered in the summer breeze. No one came. 

Susan made her way, ever so carefully, down the stairs. The shadows seemed to shift and deepen, but no one seemed to have noticed Susan’s silent pilgrimage. Finally, she reached the back door and gratefully slipped outside.

The moon was bright, and the stars twinkled merrily around it on the clear night. They weren’t alive, and they weren’t as close as the Narnian stars had been, but Susan found herself feeling a little better when she gazed up at them. Long ago, in their reign over the Golden Age of Narnia, Susan had seen fauns dance under skies like these. There had been group dances, single dances, merry dances, solemn dances, dances that told stories, dances that conveyed feelings…

There was one dance Susan remembered well. The father of one of the fauns passed away, and the young faun had danced out her grief. It was a magical dance, and Susan had felt like crying just watching it. Lucy had tears streaming down her face by its end.

Slowly, Susan raised her arms in the first position of the grief-dance. She felt slightly self-conscious dancing behind a building in the middle of the night, but soon shrugged off her worries. No one would see her anyway.

She twirled and leapt and crouched and ran and let out all of her pent-up energy and frustration. The whole dance was lost to her, but the moves didn’t matter anymore. Susan just let out her heart under the stars, which were so like, and yet so unlike, the familiar Narnian ones she remembered.

Presently, Susan found herself just sitting among the weeds and flowers with fresh tears streaming down her face. The damp world around her smelled a little like home. Narnia.

“Why are you crying?”

The words shocked Susan out of her thoughts, and her head whipped around. Standing in the doorway was a little girl, no more than six or seven years old. Light brown hair fell in wild, tightly-curled ringlets around her tan face. 

“I was remembering,” Susan told her, blushing and beckoning the girl out to where she sat.

“Remembering what?”

“My family. My home. A lot of things. Why are you out here so late?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I had a nightmare about the fire.”

“Fire?” Susan asked, hesitantly wrapping an arm around the young girl.

“Yeah. My family died in it last year. I don’t try to think about it much anymore, but sometimes…”

“I understand,” Susan murmured. She did. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Louise. I’m six. Who are you?” Louise gave Susan a contemplative look before snuggling closer into her side.

“I’m Susan. My family died in a train crash a little more than two weeks ago.” The words were surprisingly steady.

“Oh. Is that why you were out here too?”

“Yeah.”

Louise sighed and looked up at the moon above them. “My Mummy used to read me bedtime stories every night. I haven’t had one since I came here. Will you tell me a story?”

Susan was caught a bit off guard. “A story? It’s been a long time since I’ve told anyone a story.”

“It doesn’t have to be a long story,” Louise persisted. “Please?”

Susan sighed, searching her memory for something to tell. Whatever tales her mother had told her were too long ago to recall well, and Narnian fairytales were just a little too fantastical… Then it came to her, quick as a flash, and she wondered how she had not thought of it right away.

“Once upon a time, there were four children. The youngest was named L--Lucy, and she believed in everything. Next was a boy named Edmund, and he was a bit of a bully, always wanting to prove himself better than others. Lucy and Edmund had an older sister named Susan--”

“That’s you?” Louise interrupted.

“Yes. Now hush and listen to the story. As I said there were Lucy and Edmund, and then Susan who I think you already know. Susan liked things to be logical and make sense. Finally, the oldest brother was named Peter, and he was brave. Brave and Magnificent.” Susan paused for a moment, the words caught in her throat, until Louise fidgeted and spoke up. 

“Is that all? That’s not much of a story!”

“Be patient, Louise,” Susan said. “The story hasn’t even started yet. You see, one day the siblings were playing hide-and-seek in the house of an old professor they were staying with. Lucy--the youngest, you remember--found herself hiding inside of a magical wardrobe. It led to a whole other land called--called Narnia….”

Louise fell asleep leaning against Susan by the time Lucy had finished her tea with Mr. Tumnus. Susan didn’t know where the girl’s room was, so she carefully scooped the child up and brought her back to her own room. Then Susan snuggled up under the covers of her bed with little Louise beside her and fell asleep until morning.


	6. Sixth

Louise quickly became the sole bright spot in Susan’s life. She was perky, impatient, and basically a normal six-year-old. Susan clung to this new piece of life and threw herself into becoming a sort of mother or older sister to the girl. She found that when she was with her, she was too busy to remember why she was in the orphanage, and when Susan fell into bed at night, she was too tired to dream about what might have been.

Louise, for her part, dragged Susan all over the orphanage, forcing her out of her room and into places where she had to actually interact with the other orphans. Unbeknownst to both of them, this was the best possible thing Susan could have done. Not only was Susan learning to talk to and function around people again, but taking care of Louise gave her a focus in life other than her past and her grief. Not to mention it provided an iron-clad excuse for avoiding Tom. 

“Tom Riddle is watching you,” Louise whispered to Susan one morning after their talk in the garden, loud enough that a ratty boy of around twelve sitting near them curiously looked around. Susan stiffened and glanced back. Tom was sitting across the room and didn’t appear to have heard anything.

“Does he like you?” Louise giggled. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Of course not!” Susan snapped, keeping her voice low. “We had a…” what had actually happened that Susan could explain? “We had a fight. We don’t like each other at all.”

“Oh. Are you sure?” Louise desperately desired a boyfriend for herself.

“Very sure. In fact, can you keep a secret?” Louise nodded and zipped her lips. “I think Tom is sort of scary--like the White Witch.”

Louise’s eyes widened. “But that’s just a story! You really think Tom is that bad?”

“I do,” Susan told the little girl solemnly. She didn’t want Louise getting anywhere near Tom! “How do you think we should escape?”

Louise thought hard. “We could run away?”

“Yes, but why?” Susan muttered. “We need a reason.” She looked contemplatively at Louise. Suddenly, the idea hit. “How about you pretend to be afraid of Tom?”  
Louise wrinkled her nose. “But I’m not afraid of Tom. I’m not a scaredy-cat!”

“Yes,” Susan nodded, “but this will be just pretending to be afraid. We’ll know you’re really not afraid, but Tom won’t know that! Then we can get away from him and he won’t think we’re up to anything. He doesn’t know that we know he’s a bad guy, so you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Louise crossed her heart. “I promise. How should I act afraid?”

“Sort of hide behind me--like this. And see how Tom’s standing right by the door? When we walk past, sort of tug me away from him, keeping hold on my dress. Look at him like he’s a scary White Witch and you’re a scared little fox that doesn’t want to turn to stone! Perfect, just like that.” Susan tried to gather herself. She could tell Tom was planning to corner her, standing by the door and watching her every move. Hopefully their little “game” would fool him.

Sure enough, the closer Susan and Louise walked to the door, the more nervous and scared Louise seemed to become. About ten feet from the door, Louise positively buried her face in Susan’s skirts. Tom watched them closely from his silent vigil.

“Whatever is the matter, Louise?” Susan asked, doing her best to look annoyed with the young girl.

Louise raised wide eyes to Susan’s face in a masterful display. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

“Of what? We walk through this door every day!”

Apparently too afraid to answer, Louise started fearfully at Tom for a minute before once again hiding her face. “Of Tom?”

Louise nodded.

“Well then, we’ll just have to walk past him very quickly and scamper all the way to my room. Alright? Ready… Set…”

“Excuse me.” Susan startled. Tom had somehow gotten behind her. Louise, still playing her part, shrank away from him on Susan’s other side. Tom nodded cordially at her, and turned to Louise. “Why are you afraid?”

They hadn’t planned on this. Susan knew Tom practically relished being feared by the younger children. She had only been at the orphanage for a few weeks, but she had already heard stories from terrified youngsters leaking through the rumor mill. No, Tom didn’t care that Louise was scared. He probably just wanted another chance to confront Susan, to satisfy whatever strange curiosity had led him to her in the first place. Susan shuddered.

Louise was nearly trembling beside Susan, and she didn’t know if it was all an act. Inwardly, Susan scolded herself. Here she was, a Queen of Narnia, and she couldn’t stand up to a bully or a brat or whatever kind of monster Tom Riddle was, even for the sake of a little girl.

For the first time in years, Susan became the Gentle Queen. She did it for Louise, and she did it for herself. Maybe just to prove that, when all else failed, the Gentle Queen still stood against enemies of Aslan. The Gentle Queen would never bow to evil.

“Tom Riddle,” she whispered, fists clenched, “I don’t know what you did to make Louise so afraid of you, but you’d better not do anything to any of these little ones ever again.”

Tom leaned closer. His eyes narrowed in anger, and for a moment they looked red in the light, like the eyes of the beasts that had surrounded the Witch as Aslan was killed. “Or what?” The words were barely a breath, but Susan knew they carried more danger than a shout. Tom Riddle was more deadly than an asp. 

It didn’t matter. Aslan was on her side. The worst he could do was kill her, and then Susan would see her siblings again anyway, which was all she had wanted in the first place.

“Let’s go, Su!” Louise said, tugging Susan’s hand toward the door. Susan followed, still watching Tom as he turned away and gracefully walked back through the dining room.

After what seemed like forever, they reached Susan’s room. Louise looked up at her, grinning. “Did I do good?”

She couldn’t answer. For a moment after she had walked through the door, proudly striding as she had done all those years ago, she had felt as if the ghosts of her siblings were walking beside her. Louise’s hand could have been Lucy’s, and she could have just left an audience with Rabadash in the heart of Calorman. Ed and Peter would have been behind, making sure no one hurt her.

Oh Aslan, if you could bring my siblings back I would do anything. I would dedicate my first child to you, or I would spend the rest of my life in a convent. They could hate me for all I was worth, and I wouldn’t even care if I could just see them one last time.

But it was only Susan and Louise here in the room. Susan wiped at her eyes and put on a smile for the little girl. “You did great, Louise. Now, weren’t you going to show me that picture you made?”

Louise grinned and ran off to get the drawing, leaving Susan alone for a moment. She took the time to pull herself together and look to the sunlight pouring through the window. Aslan’s light. 

She didn’t have the help of her family here, but she wasn’t alone. Her shoulders squared and her face set. She was Queen Susan the Gentle of the radiant southern sun, a Queen of Narnia once and always, and nothing would stand in her way. Heartened, she stepped forward and pushed the window open.

.

It was her fifth week in the orphanage, and Susan was just settling Louise down for a bedtime story (in the little girl’s own room this time) when someone came.  
“In a far off land called Archenland there was a servant boy. He had dirty yellow hair, ripped and patched clothes, and a runny nose. He even smelled kind of funny because his master, who was also his father, made him clean the fishing nets and make the food and tidy up the house every day.”

Louise didn’t believe Narnia was truly real, of course, but just having someone to talk about her adventures to made them feel more real to Susan again. She remembered more the more she told, and she was passing on Narnia’s legacy, even if it was in the form of fairy stories.

“That’s worse than here!” Louise exclaimed, obviously surprised. “Why would his father do that?”

“Well, he wasn’t a very nice--”

Susan was interrupted by the door creaking open ever so slowly. 

“Hello?” she called. “Who is it?”

No answer, except for a small sniff. Susan walked over and opened the door. There stood a small boy, about five years old, with red-rimmed eyes and a dirty shirt that made it look like he’d fallen in a mud puddle. His hair would have been blond if it wasn’t so dirty, and his expression clearly said he was lost.

“Hello there,” Susan smiled reassuringly. “What’s your name?”

“Christopher,” the little boy whispered shyly. Susan remembered the name. This poor little boy had been abandoned at the front gate and found yesterday morning! He had obviously had a hard time of it, and Susan felt what was left of her heart go out to the small child.

“Well Christoper, I was just starting a story for Louise here. Would you like to stay and keep us company?” Christopher nodded.

“Do you mind, Louise?” the six-year-old shook her head, so Susan reached down and plopped Christopher onto the bed. “There! Now where were we…”

Christopher and Louise snuggled up together under the covers, and Susan didn’t have the heart to help Christopher find his room again when they both fell asleep there. Instead, she snuck off to her own room and promised to be there the next morning when they both woke up.

Ever since that day, Susan had made a point to watch out for younger children who seemed to be scared or alone. There were surprisingly few, but Susan knew in this place they learned to hide their feelings well. It didn’t take long to find herself a band of misfits to call friends and to help her heal from the loss of her old family. In a way, they almost became a new one.

.

Susan was so busy with her new charges that time flew by. It seemed like it had been only several days when Susan woke up one morning and realised she had been at the orphanage for two months. Two mostly gray and depressed months. If Louise and Christopher hadn’t found her, Susan suspected she would have been walking around like a ghost, pale and lifeless. As it was, she was closer to a machine, trying to get through each day without succumbing to heartbreak, though Susan felt that the children were slowly adding color back into her life again. It was hard to stay sad when two small children tried to drag you into their tickle fights and games of tag.

Tom had backed off after their last confrontation, although Susan still had no idea why. Maybe the Gentle Queen had threatened him more forcefully than she thought, but Susan didn’t think that was the case. His silence made her worry more than his action had.

“SusanSusanSusan!” Christopher yelled, bursting into her room. Once he had gotten over his shyness around Susan and Louise, it had become nearly impossible to get the child to stop talking. He seemed to love making noise.

“How many times have I told you to knock, Christopher?” Susan groaned, rolling over in her bed.

“But Susan, Mrs. Cole wanted to talk to you!” Christopher stomped over and began pulling on Susan’s bedcovers. She closed her eyes and tried to stay in the warmth of the bed before his words registered.

“Mrs. Cole?” The head of the orphanage hardly ever asked for anyone by name unless the person was going to be adopted (which was highly unlikely in Susan’s case), or was in big trouble. “Have I done something wrong?” she muttered to herself.

“I don’t know,” Christopher piped up cheerfully, “but you shouldn’t keep her waiting!”

“Of course not,” Susan agreed. “Go tell her I’ll be there in a minute, just let me get dressed.”

Christopher was off like a shot, thumping down the stairs back to Mrs. Cole’s office as loudly as an elephant. Susan shook her head fondly as she went over to the old wardrobe and pulled out a dress. Christopher and Louise had taken to each other like a fork and spoon, and somehow she had become something of a surrogate older sister to both of them. Susan wondered if that made her the knife, then shook her head. Mrs. Cole’s strange request was what was important right now.

Hurrying downstairs, Susan was lost in speculation and didn’t notice the person standing in the hall until she ran right into him. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Susan cried, looking up at his face and freezing in her tracks.

It was Tom.

He looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Then his expression smoothed over into a pleased and, Susan thought, slightly smug expression. “Susan Pevensie, a pleasure as always.” Tom’s eyes were giving her chills, and Susan realised she didn’t have Lucy’s journal to give her courage this time.

“I’m sorry Tom, but I must be going.” She made to walk around him, but he stepped into her path. “Really, Tom, Mrs. Cole has asked to see me right away!”

To her surprise, Tom stepped to the side immediately. However, just when she thought she was home free, he roughly grabbed her arm and began walking with her at a much more sedate pace than she had been going before. 

“In that case, allow me to escort you there.” Susan shuddered, but could do nothing but follow as Tom gracefully led her down the rest of the stairs. His handsome eyes flashed to her again, but Susan was no longer taken in by his good looks. “You are an interesting girl, Susan.”

“Yes, I prefer it to being dull and insipid,” Susan remarked in a clipped tone.

“You’re not alone, you know,” Tom continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Tell me, Susan,” he stopped walking and turned to face her. “Has anything… odd ever happened to you? Anything… extraordinary, or… magical?”

Susan froze. Did he know about Narnia? The White Witch? How could he have found out? Did he know she was a Queen? She felt her face paling the tiniest bit, never mind her excellent poker face, and knew it was all the confirmation Tom needed. What was he going to do with her? She met his intense gaze, wide eyed, and knew in that moment there was only one thing she could do.

“No,” she said shortly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now please excuse me; I have a meeting to attend.” Susan pulled out of his grip and marched away, concealing her feelings, but sure Tom could hear her heart pounding all the way down to Mrs. Cole’s room.


	7. Seventh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Another update! I'm so fast sometimes...

Mrs. Cole was sitting behind her desk when Susan gave a polite knock on the office door. The morning sunlight hit the matron’s face from the side, emphasizing her sharp, plain features. Clear gray eyes snapped up to meet Susan’s. 

“Susan Pevensie,” said Mrs. Cole, “You have received a letter. I would have given it to one of the youngsters that follows you around, but I wasn’t quite sure the little boy could handle the task.” She sniffed a bit disdainfully, and Susan felt a spark of irritation shoot through her. There was nothing wrong with Christopher!

“But anyway, here you are.” Susan was handed an envelope and dismissed from the room so fast she hardly registered what had happened.

Tom was gone when Susan walked down the hall and up to her room, and she couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or anxious about it. She kept looking over her shoulder as she walked, waiting for Tom to spring out of the shadows like a tall and handsome jack-in-the-box, but her way back remained undisturbed, and when Susan reached her room she took the letter out and sat on her bed.

That was when Susan realised she was being watched by two curious little sets of eyes.

“What’s that?” Louise asked. “Who sent you a letter?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Susan told her. “But if you give me a chance to open it, then I’ll tell you.”

“Open it!” Christopher cried loudly, “I’ll help.”

He reached grabby hands for the envelope Susan was holding, but she stood and quickly held it out of his reach.

“It’s my letter, Christopher. I’ll open it and read it to you, alright?”

“Okay,” he sighed.

“And take your finger out of your nose. It’s not polite.”

Chastised, the young boy removed the offending finger, and Susan carefully tore open her envelope. The page that unfolded was covered with different types of handwriting scrawled all over it. 

“What does it say?” Christopher asked, excitedly waiting for her to read it aloud.

“It’s from my friends at school…” Susan stared blankly at the paper she was holding. It looked as if all the girls in her class (and a few of the boys) had each taken turns writing a sentence or two to her. They must have discovered what had happened after Susan and her siblings hadn’t shown up at school.

“Read it!” Louise begged, bouncing up and down on the bed. Christopher joined her, watching Susan expectantly.

Susan herself didn’t know what to feel. The letter was full of pity and platitudes, and she was sure none of the others could ever know what she was going through. Still, she took a breath and began to read the letter, doing her best to sound cheerful and optimistic for the sakes of the children in front of her.

“Dear Susan,  
I am so sorry about what happened to you and your family. They were really great people and we will miss them a lot. Please don’t be depressed! We all love you!  
Love, Ashley

"Dear Su:  
Sorry about everything that happened with your family. I can’t even imagine what it’s like. Are you going to come back to school? You’ll never guess who got together the other day. Robert and Anne! I couldn’t believe it. And I swear Jim has been looking at me. Can you say eew?   
We all miss you!  
From, Violet

"Dear Susan,  
It’s really sad what happened to you. My dad passed away in the war, and I know it must be 10 times harder for you than it was for me. If you ever need to talk about it, don’t hesitate to write.  
From,”

Susan paused, staring at the name.

“Richard.”

Richard had written to her. The boy she had been going to meet before the phone call that had ruined her life. The meeting she had been rushing to when the others had gotten in her way. The last fight she would ever have with her siblings, her fellow rulers of Narnia.

Her fingers seized up around the paper, wrinkling the edges in her fists. She wanted to tear the paper to shreds, tear Richard to shreds, for stealing away the last conversation she could have had with them. For causing her to spit mean words at them instead of hugging them, making sure they knew how much she loved them.

“Is that all?” Louise whined. “That wasn’t very interesting. Was there a love note from your Beau?”

“Love notes!” Christopher stuck out his tongue. “Gross!”

“No!” said Susan, sharper than she had meant to. “I do not have a beau, and certainly no one who would write me love notes.”

The two looked at her oddly and, Susan noticed, a little fearfully. She felt exhausted all of a sudden.

“Christopher, Louise,” she said much more calmly, “I think I need to take a nap. Why don’t you two go play with the others for a while?”

“Okay!” Christopher agreed happily, dragging Louise out the door behind him. “Let’s have a race…” his voice trailed off as they walked down the stairs.

Susan shut the door and the room was filled with silence. She sighed deeply and sat on the bed to finish her letter. It almost made her sick. No one had really understood what she felt. Richard had possibly come the closest to it, and every time she saw his name she just wanted to… wanted to…

Susan gave a grunt of frustration and tore underneath Richard’s note. A bit of relief. Susan tore the page again, above the words Richard had written. Then she carefully took the strip bearing his handwriting and signature and burned it in the candle.

The room smelled like smoke when she was finished. Susan didn’t mind. She took the two pieces of her letter and shoved them into the bottom of her little drawer.

She would never see those friends again anyway.

.

Two days after receiving the letter, a child was adopted. It was the first time it had happened while Susan was at the orphanage, and she had been surprised at how little fanfare there had been. The lucky child had been a boy of about four years with a head full of curls so light they were almost white. The boy, named Nathaniel, had hugged his best friend John goodbye and left with his new parents almost before Susan even realised anything was amiss. She had joined the crowd watching from the top of the stairs as they left. Louise and Christopher had been at her sides.

The crowd dispersed and they walked back to Susan’s little room. Louise was oddly quiet the whole way, holding Susan’s hand and biting her lip.

Christopher was going on about something when they shut the door behind them, but Susan was watching Louise. Finally, she let her curiosity get the better of her. 

“Is something the matter, Louise?”

She shook her head.

Susan didn’t push it. Instead, she turned back to Christopher, who looked huffy after realising he had been ignored. “Can we go outside and play?”

“Alright, I suppose,” Susan said. She got back up to her feet. Christopher had just raced ahead to the bedroom door when Louise tugged on Susan’s skirt and looked at her shyly. “Yes, Louise?”

“Susan… Nathaniel is going to have a mother now, right?”

Susan paused. “Yes, Louise. The nice lady who adopted him will be his new mother.”

Louise nodded, apparently satisfied. “Can you be our mother too?”

The world froze. Susan stared at the little girl that had first pulled her back into the world of the living and given her a reason to keep going. Then her gaze shifted to Christopher, the little boy that brought so much joyful energy into her life. He had stopped at the door to see if they were coming, and had obviously heard the question because he, too, was looking at her with the honest pleading only a small child can replicate.

“This is what you want? Both of you?” she asked gently, and a bit shakily. They nodded.

“I’ve never had a Mummy before,” Christopher said. “You can be my favorite one.”

Just like that, there was a crack in the glass case Susan had surrounded herself with these past months. She laughed a little, and pulled them both into a hug. “Yes, if you want, I will be your Mummy too.”

“Yay!” Christopher shouted, a little hurricane once more. “I have a Mummy, I have a Mummy!”

Louise was much quieter, but her smile could have lit the whole room. “Thank you Mummy,” she whispered.

Susan’s eyes grew a bit damp, and for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t from grief. These kids were the two little stars on the black night sky of her life. It was with a melancholy heart that she wondered what her siblings would have made of all this.

***

He wanted her. 

Tom Riddle paced back and forth around his too-small, too-plain little room, both disgusted and fascinated by Susan Pevensie at the same time. He kicked the already scuffed bedpost as he passed it.

She was just a muggle girl, an orphan who acted like a Queen. But there was something about her, something, that was connected to the magical world. Her reaction when he had hinted about accidental magic had been far too strong for him to have hit upon anything but the truth. She must be some sort of unwanted, unregistered Mudblood that had gotten lost in the system. He could use that.

If he could take the grief that must be left from the death of her family and twist it, he was sure she would learn to hate the proper people: the filth who took over so much of the magical world. And she would serve him and bow at his feet and tell him all of her secrets so his curiosity could be satisfied and her pitiful life could have some meaning.

He had been up late several weeks ago, reading one of his few extra wizarding books. His creaky window had been open, and he had heard someone leaving the building. Tom had very keen ears, and the sneak had not been quiet enough.

When he looked out the window, Tom had expected to see the usual rat-faced rebel-wannabes standing on the doorstep or getting into some mischief. What he hadn’t expected to see was Susan, walking to the center of the pathetic excuse for a garden. He had been more intrigued when, instead of looking at the moon or smelling the scarce flowers like any mundane muggle would have done, Susan had begun to dance.

She raised her arms, she twirled, she jumped. Tom was convinced the dance was a work of magic, but not one he was sure he liked. Something about it felt oddly off, as if she were dancing to a tune he recognised, but the key had been changed so that the piece was nearly unrecognisable. He had turned away from the dance, because it made him feel strange. 

No, Susan Pevensie was not a normal person at all.

But she had never, not once, listened to him or fallen for his acts. He had never been anything but polite and charming, and she had turned her back on him at all opportunities. Still pacing, Tom rubbed his bicep where the strange journal had burned him. It had occurred to him to steal it, of course, so as to better examine it, but how could he stop it from burning him without any magic or suspicious magical supplies? Better to wait until it was time for him to go, and then he could grab it and be gone forever from this prison. If he was lucky, the loss of the journal would break the girl’s spirit as well.


	8. Eighth

Susan pushed Tom to the back of her mind. She had to, as her two new, semi-adopted kids were taking up all of her time. Susan was only sixteen, and she wasn’t sure at all of what she was doing. She persevered only because she felt as if Aslan was smiling at her efforts to give these children love whenever she glanced at Lucy’s journal.  
On the second day of August, Louise twirled into Susan’s room. “Guess what Mummy? It’s my birthday!” She announced.  


“Really?” Susan pretended to be shocked, even though Louise had been talking about it for days.  


“Yes!”  


“Well then,” said Susan, “I guess we’ll have to celebrate, won’t we?”  


Louise began giggling madly. She nodded, hopping from foot to foot. “Can I have cake? Can we play princesses allllll day?”  


“I don’t know about the cake, Honey,” Susan said, “but we can certainly play princesses.”  


So they did. Christopher complained a little, but Susan promised he could do what he wanted on his birthday too.  


What little of her time wasn’t taken up by Louise and Christopher was spent reading Lucy’s journal, and really talking, for the first time, to some of the other orphans that were a little older. Augusta, a golden-haired girl who had just turned fourteen, was somehow becoming a good friend. Susan suspected that she either checked out books from the library a mile away or stole them. Augusta was the kind of girl that made both seem equally likely. But she loved to learn, and Susan certainly could respect that. Jack, Augusta’s older brother, was fifteen. He had darker hair than his sister, the same brown eyes, and always carried a worn deck of cards in his pocket.  


Louise and Christopher had wasted no time in bragging to the other little ones that Susan was their Mummy now. Many of them had laughed and teased, but a few had come knocking on Susan’s door. She had accepted Nathan and Peggy and Shelly into her little family over the following weeks. They were much closer to Louise and Christopher’s ages than Susan’s, and all they wanted was to call her “Mummy” too.  


Of course, she was also the first one called whenever one of them got caught in a scuffle. Susan was used to mediating between Lucy and Edmund, but these kids were a good deal smaller and younger than they. Susan tried her best, but more than once a child or two had gotten mad at her for taking another’s “side” or for being “unfair.” Some days, Susan just retreated to her room and held her head in her hands, wishing they would all just go away. Still, she persevered, and her children loved her for it.  


Susan wondered one day whether her parents and siblings had ever thought she’d be a mother of five and still a teenager. Somehow she doubted it, though her siblings would have known that mentally she was much closer to thirty than sixteen.  


Tom remained in the shadows of the orphanage, and it was making Susan jumpy. He knew something about her, or he would not have asked her that question about strange experiences and magic the day she had received the letter. He had seen her reaction, she was sure, so why did he do nothing? What was the point of this waiting game?  


As the days went by, she put him farther and farther to the back of her mind. The children needed her attention more.  


“MummyMummyMummy!” Christopher called down the hall. “Guess what?”  


“What is it, Christopher,” she asked calmly, sending Augusta an apologetic glance.  


“I found a penny on the ground outside!”  


Augusta smiled. She thought Christopher was the most adorable child in the orphanage. “That’s very lucky, Christopher. Do you know what you’re going to spend it on?”  


The little boy looked stumped for a moment. Obviously he hadn’t thought so far ahead yet. Then his expression cleared. “Candy! Candy, Candy, Candy!” he sang, and began to spin in circles.  


“I’ll let you deal with that,” Augusta mouthed. Susan rolled her eyes and sighed as her new friend made her escape, leaving the door open. She had not gotten enough sleep for this. “Christopher--”  


“Why hello there,” a low, smooth voice interrupted her. Christopher took one look at someone she couldn’t see and scampered all the way into the room and behind the bed. A soft chuckle. Susan didn’t need to see him to know who it was.  


“Tom. What do you want?”  


He stepped into the doorway, and the morning sun glinted in his eyes. He was wearing black gloves to cover his hands, she noticed. His hair looked soft and warm, and so did his lips… _Stop it!_ She told herself sternly. _Rabadash was handsome too, and look how that turned out. And the Witch was beautiful. Think of Aslan and keep a smart head on your shoulders!_  


“I thought I’d come and say goodbye,” said Tom, his dark eyes locked on hers.  


“Goodbye?” Susan asked. Why would Tom be saying goodbye?  


“Yes, haven’t your little urchins told you? I’m leaving for a boarding school tomorrow, and I am never coming back again.” He took another step into the room.  


“Oh,” she stated simply. “Goodbye.”  


“I thought maybe,” he continued, taking another step, “I could have something to remember you by.” Christopher cowered behind the bed, and Susan stood, unsure what he wanted, but unwilling to give him anything.  


“What are you talking about?”  


“Oh, nothing really. Just a-- Ouch!” His hand, which had touched the journal sitting on her desk, jerked back as if it had been burned. Susan could see a small hole in his glove where he had touched it. Quick as a flash, she grabbed Lucy’s precious book out of his reach and held it close. To think, he had almost stolen it!  


Tom was staring as if he had never seen anything quite like her. Susan gave an invisible shudder; his curiosity looked predatory. “What,” he said quietly, pronouncing each word, “did you do to that thing?”  


Susan held it even tighter and shifted slightly so that she could stand directly in front of Christopher, placing herself between him and Tom. Her head was held high and her back was straight. She was Queen Susan the Gentle, and she would not be afraid.  


“Back to not talking then,” mused Tom, still staring right into her eyes. Susan did not look away, and she did not give him one inch of satisfaction. “You must have done something magical, of course,” he continued. “Don’t pretend you haven’t. Only you can touch the thing. But I’ve never seen you at Hogwarts before, and you’re obviously English. Who taught you, and why?”  


Susan didn’t know what to say. Tom knew something he obviously thought she knew as well, but she hadn’t the foggiest idea what he was talking about. Could there really be magic, real magic, in England? And what was Hogwarts?  


“You’re playing a dangerous game, Susan,” Tom growled. He flicked his wrist and a thin stick fell into his hand. He pointed it right at her heart. “Tell me.”  


Instead, Susan couldn’t hold back a little snort. A magic wand? The only magic wielder she had known with such a thing was the Witch, and that magic wand had looked much more threatening than this little sliver of wood.  


Her laughter only served to enrage Tom. Pocketing his wand, he made a grab for the journal once more. When it burned through the fingertips of his gloves, making his fingers blister and smart, he took hold of her shoulders instead. Susan gasped and tried to pull away, but he was bigger and stronger than she was. His lips were nearly touching her ear.  


“There are more ways than magic to cause pain, Pevensie,” he whispered. Behind them, Christopher was making his way over to the door. Susan hoped he would find help. Suddenly, she remembered something. Something that had happened when she first met Tom. She had said the name of Aslan, and he had recoiled. It was a wild hope of a chance, but maybe he would do it again.  


“Leave me alone!” she hissed angrily. “In the name of Aslan, and the Emperor-over-the-sea!”  


He shivered, as she had hoped, but it was not enough for her to get away. Still, Susan struggled and put up a fuss. Christopher slipped out the door, unnoticed. Good.  


“Who is that?” Tom jerked her angrily. “Who is that--that name?”  


“Aslan,” said Susan again, louder this time. “The one that taught me magic.”  


“Where can I find this man?” Tom asked ominously.  


_Like I’d tell you the truth,_ Susan thought. Out loud, she simply said, “You cannot.”  


“Fidelius Charm, then? Or something similar I suppose…” Tom trailed off, apparently lost in thought. He still held her tightly captive. Susan didn’t have any clue what he was talking about, but she wasn’t about to let Tom know that. Especially when she was pressed against him and completely at his mercy. _This is not anything like what I imagined being alone in a room with a handsome boy would be._  


“What is going on in here?” thundered a voice. Mrs. Cole. Little Christopher had had the nerve to go to Mrs. Cole. Susan was either going to kiss him or kill him when this was over.  


Tom let her go as if they had simply been sharing a hug. He nearly left an arm hanging over her shoulder, but Susan shoved it aside and walked over to Christopher. He met her halfway, clinging to her skirts.  


“We were only saying goodbye, Mrs. Cole,” Tom purred charmingly. It made Susan sick just listening to it.  


“You were saying goodbye in a very familiar manor, Tom,” Mrs. Cole reprimanded sternly. “It’s not proper to… say goodbye... alone in the room with your girl.”  


“Of course--” began Tom, but Susan was not about to let that comment pass.  


“I am not his girl, Mrs. Cole. Tom wanted to say goodbye, but I did not. That’s why I sent Christopher to find someone.” Tom glared, but Mrs. Cole looked at Susan oddly. Susan got the strangest feeling that she had earned a bit of respect from the woman.  


“I see.” Turning to Tom, Mrs. Cole gave him a push toward the door and a hard glare. “You! Get out of my establishment right now. We run a respectable house here, and I know you’re never planning on returning. If you’re so eager to leave, you can get out a day early! Grab your trunk, boy!”  


Still scolding and yelling, Mrs. Cole dragged Tom out of the room and up the stairs to his own place. Susan let out a huge breath and flopped down into a chair. Christopher sat on her lap and gave her a big hug.  


“I was so scared, Mummy. He grabbed you and wouldn’t let go and I didn’t know what to do--”  


“It’s alright, Christopher,” Susan soothed him, though she still felt badly shaken herself. “You did exactly the right thing. You were very brave.” She rubbed his back a bit and planted a little kiss on his forehead.  


“But I left you all alone with him. What if he had done something bad?” He turned wide, pleading eyes up to her face. “I’m sorry.”  


“Oh, Honey,” Susan hugged him again. “You helped an awful lot when you got Mrs. Cole for me. I was very happy you were safe and out of the room, otherwise Tom might have tried to hurt you, too.”  


Christopher sniffed.  
“Come on, Christopher,” Susan said, standing up with him still clinging to her. “Let’s find Louise and the others. They’ll sure want to be the first ones to hear this story.”  


“Okay,” Christopher whispered.  


Susan carefully set him on the ground, where he grabbed her skirts tightly, and they went downstairs to find the other children. Louise, Nathan, Peggy, and Shelly were shocked and scared when the heard the story. Even when Susan assured them that she was perfectly alright and that Tom had taken nothing from her, they still clung to her wide-eyed. 

That night they all slept together in the same room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter update today... But it's almost summer! Be happy!

Tom left the orphanage that morning and, true to his word, never returned. This did not stop Susan from thinking about him. On the contrary, because of his absence he became a strange mystery that she pondered over some nights when she couldn’t sleep. What was the strange magic he had spoken of? Where had he learned it and gotten his wand? Was it that Hogwarts place, wherever it was?

She didn’t have much time to think on it, swamped as she was with small children, but late at night Susan often did her best wondering while sitting in her rickety chair and looking at the stars through the open window. The orphanage was silent, and the only light came from the sickly street lamps. 

Even Augusta couldn’t help her speculate about it, because her friend had received a scholarship to a fancy boarding school somewhere. She promised to come and visit for Christmas and Easter, but it just wasn’t the same without her.

On one particular night, Susan’s mind had wandered to Tom once more, and the things he had said about magic. He must have been a wizard himself to know what he was talking about, and Jadis had been a witch. They had resonated the same way, somewhere deep inside her. Susan tried to come up with something, anything, connecting the two people, but the only similarities were stunning beauty and magic.

The beauty idea Susan discarded immediately, because she had known (and, in fact, been) a both kind and beautiful woman. However, magic…

Perhaps it was magic that corrupted the soul. Perhaps being a witch or wizard was the first step to becoming something foul and corrupt like Jadis and Tom had been.

Then again, Aslan himself had wielded the Deep Magic, or at least followed it with all of his heart. It was if he had been the Deep Magic, and Susan had never known a better being than Aslan. Perhaps… perhaps people who studied magic weren’t so mysterious. Perhaps they were just like the scholars of other things, able to use their knowledge for either great good or great evil.

Susan stared at the stars for a long time that night. Anyone looking through the window at her might have even thought she was having a conversation with them from millions of miles away.

Eventually, she walked back to the bed and snuggled under her covers. She would put the strange English magic to the back of her mind for now. Despite the possibility of good witches and wizards, Susan herself didn’t know if she could ever trust one after all she had been through.

If the good ones existed at all.

.

School began again for the orphans not long after Tom left for good. Susan did not bother to attend after the first day.

For Wool’s Orphanage, ‘school’ was really just two hours in which all the children gathered in the large common area where they ate. A single old teacher called Mr. Livre stood at the front and taught basic things such as reading and simple arithmetic, which Susan had learned when she was younger than Louise. His wheezy voice bored the children quickly, and Susan was amazed that anyone had learned anything. There were very few books and writing utensils to use; nothing could be wasted on those who already knew what was being taught. Susan deemed the lessons worthless for herself, but talked the young ones into going.

Instead of school, Susan spent her days helping out around the orphanage by washing clothes and windows and caring for the youngest ones. Augusta’s brother Jack helped too, as well as a girl named Mary. At night, when everyone had been put to bed, Susan would often go out the back door and sit among the weeds of the garden. There she would take out Lucy’s journal and read by the light of the moon. And slowly, she began to understand her siblings in a way that she hadn’t before.

Lucy, though technically only eight years old when she had begun the journal, had never really written as a child. Her thoughts on feelings, war, faith, anger, friendship, and love were insightful and wise. She had never been the child refusing to grow up that Susan had scorned. Rather, she was an intelligent woman who knew where her faith belonged. In many ways, Susan realised, Lucy had been far ahead of her.

Lucy’s insights and thoughts on her brothers were also enlightening. Susan saw, through Lucy’s eyes, how Peter had begun to drift away around the same time as she, but had grabbed onto Lucy’s faith and pulled himself back up with it. She saw, later, how Lucy had held herself up with Peter’s faith in return after being told she could never go back. Susan glimpsed Edmund too, always in the background as a silent pillar of support. And as she read, she saw herself drifting away from her siblings, her country, her Aslan. 

It must be confessed that Susan often cried out there in that garden.

And she wondered…

.

The old journal slammed shut, and Tom Riddle threw it to the side in disgust. Herpo the Foul, the inventor of horcruxes, had never bothered to learn any writing, so his assistant had written the journal. However, completely lacking the extent of Dark Arts knowledge required to understand the subject, the man had included next to no thoughts on what would happen if one split the soul more than once. In fact, Tom doubted whether the assistant even really knew what he was writing about in any capacity at all. 

What he needed was a better, more current source of information. After all, someone might have done the deed more than once already, but it could have been hundreds of years after Herpo’s lifetime. It didn’t take Tom more than a minute of thinking to come up with the perfect person to ask about it.

The old potions professor loved information and connections, and he loved connections who gave him information he shouldn’t have the best of all. If anyone would know the answers to his questions, it would be that man. Not to mention the fact that Tom was one of his favorite students.

Still, this endeavor would require a lot of setup and planning to get just right. He didn’t want the old fool to suspect anything.

Tom smirked and got to work. He needed to think up the perfect time and place to catch Professor Slughorn alone so that he could get his questions about the Darkest of Dark Arts answered without seeming suspicious in the least. It was a job for only a master.


	10. Tenth

Susan’s birthday came and went. She was seventeen. Sometimes, she wondered if her siblings knew somewhere, somehow, that she was a year older now. It didn’t help that, in her mind, Peter, Edmund, and Lucy would never live to be a day older than they had been on May 28, 1944. It was a melancholy thought.

More than her birthday, however, Susan had been dreading Christmas since winter had hit. Usually Louise, Christopher, Shelly, Nathan, and Peggy kept her too busy and distracted to really think about her missing family, but Susan knew she would be unable to bear Christmas without them. 

Desperate for someone to share her feelings with, but not feeling comfortable enough with sending Augusta, her only real friend, a letter to do so, Susan was forced to look for an alternative. She dug out some loose papers from a drawer in the corner downstairs where “school” was held and laid them carefully in her room.

Susan stared at them for a while, not quite sure what, or how, to go about what she wanted to do. Just then, a cheerful knock rapped on her door and Susan stood guiltily. 

“Anyone home?” A voice sing-songed. 

“Augusta!” Susan ran over and gave her friend a giant hug. “How was school? Did you learn a lot? I haven’t talked to you in ages!”

“I know! It’s so good to see you, Su,” Augusta grinned. “It’s finally started snowing and I thought you and me could go for a little walk and catch up with each other.”

Susan through a glance at the loose leaves of paper on her ugly dresser, then at the sun just shining through the clouds outside her dirty window. She hesitated.

“Do you want to?” Augusta stepped inside impatiently.

“Of course,” Susan decided, pulling on her old jacket and grabbing Augusta’s arm. “Just let me tell the children where I am.” The blank pages could wait.

When Susan stepped out into the cold air with Augusta, her eyes widened and her mouth opened in delight. Big, fat, fluffy snowflakes had already covered the ground, though blades of grass were still stubbornly sticking their heads above it. Everything looked much more fresh and clean than it had a right to.

“I was thinking we could walk to the library,” Augusta was saying, leading her along. “They don’t mind me there at all, you know, and I’m not sure you’ve even been there yet. I thought you loved books!”

“I did,” Susan said quietly. Books. She hadn’t thought much about books since the accident. Her life had been such a whirlwind for so long…

A movement Susan recognised caught the corner of her eye, and she waved back, turning to see who it was. Augusta looked at her strangely. “Why are you waving, Susan? There’s nothing there but a tree.”

Susan forced a laugh. “Nothing, I just thought I saw someone.” 

“You’re an odd one, Susan Pevensie, no doubt about it.”

Susan let Augusta prattle on, but she looked at the tree out of the corner of her eye until it was out of sight. The snow had become too heavy and fallen out of its branches, and Susan was sure that it had made the exact same motions as the Trees of Narnia had done in winter when they had waved to their passing kings and queens. Suddenly, she felt a little choked up. Wiping at her eyes, she turned to see Augusta looking at her.

“Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?”

Susan gulped, and shook her head, more tears falling. “I’m sorry,” she whispered miserably. “I’m going to go back.”

“Are you sure?” Augusta asked. “I don’t think you’ve gotten out since you came here. You need to branch out a little.”

“I’m sure,” Susan choked out. Without another word, she turned and began walking back in the opposite direction. 

“Wait up!” Augusta dashed after her.

“I know the way back,” Susan called, breaking into a run. “Go without me. I’ll see you later.” 

She didn’t wait to hear Augusta’s response. She ran until her sides were hurting and her legs were cramping, all the way back into the orphanage and up to her room. Susan shut the door roughly behind her.

The blank papers were still there, just as she had left them. 

Susan flopped face down on her bed and let out a single sob. But now that she was finally alone, the tears didn’t want to come. Instead, she just laid there pathetically and breathed raggedly. The long sprint had taken up all the energy and passion that she usually put into a good cry, and left Susan feeling like an empty shell getting blown apart by the stiff winter wind.

So instead of crying her heart out into her pillow once again, Susan sat up and grabbed a pen. She took a piece of paper, and poured out her heart and feelings onto that instead.

.

On Christmas Eve, Susan learned that it was the tradition in the orphanage for some of the bigger children to help the little ones decorate a prickly, crooked pine tree on the very back of the property. 

“Goodness knows we never get any real ornaments to decorate with,” Augusta had told her that morning, “but we can cut little paper baubles and such for them. Come on!” She dragged Susan down to the common area, where Jack and a few others were already gathered, ripping bits of colored tissue paper. The golden heat and busting energy hit Susan full in the face and she recognised many of the older girls, with a few boys scattered around as well, already busily working. Some made special snowflake designs with pocket knives, while others created paper chains. The radio was in the corner playing Christmas music. 

“Hey Augusta!” called a girl named Mary. “Come on over!”

Augusta grinned and dragged Susan with her, plopping them both down at the table across from Mary. Nearly all of the girls above the age of thirteen were gathered there along with several boys. Susan guessed there were about twenty of them in all, and wondered if the smattering of boys was here to make decorations or to make eyes at some of the girls.

“Hey, Mary!” Jack swept up behind the girl and plopped down into the seat next to her. “That’s a pretty chain you’re making.”

Mary smiled prettily at him and continued ripping the paper and attaching it neatly to her carefully patterned chain. “I don’t suppose your snowflake making skills have improved this year?” she said.

An extremely offended look spread across Jack’s face. “I’ll have you know that my snowflake making skills are world-class. Watch this!” He haughtily folded a piece of paper and began to carefully cut it with his knife as the girls watched.

“Ta-daa!” Jack unfolded the paper, only to have one side rip completely, leaving the snowflake hanging sadly in a long strip. “Oh.”

Mary laughed.

Susan hadn’t meant to stay at the little gathering. In fact, deep down in a place that Susan didn’t like to acknowledge, what she had really wanted was to spend all the Christmas holidays stuck alone in her room, writing and thinking about her family as she ignored the outside world. But on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Susan stayed in the bright, festive room, and helped make decorations that would make the world a little brighter for the orphaned children. She knew her siblings, at least, would approve of that.

And if that night, when her children dragged her out to the garden to help sing carols and decorate the tree by soft candlelight, Susan cried through her smiles because her siblings weren’t there to enjoy it with her, no one could blame her a bit. And if Susan went to bed after that with rosy red cheeks from the cold, a smile on her lips from the children, instead of tears in her eyes over her family, Augusta wasn’t the only one who hid a smile at the prospect. 

.

Christmas holidays, and Tom was the only one in the castle not celebrating. 

Oh, sure, it was great for all the Mudbloods who got to go home and show their filthy families the magic they had undeservedly learned. It was wonderful for the purebloods who attended fancy balls and gave each other expensive, meaningless gifts. It was even fun for all those who stayed in the castle, because there were no classes, tests, or homework to be had.

Christmas was an overall amazing holiday for everyone but Tom, who had no family, no home, and who rather enjoyed getting useful information from his teachers, along with an iron-clad excuse to be researching in the library.

For a brief moment, walking through the strangely quiet halls, Tom wondered about that strange Mudblood at the orphanage. There were any number of protections she could have used on that diary, and if it had belonged to her dead sister, then there was motive to do so as well. That wasn’t the issue.

The issue was that she had never been to Hogwarts. She couldn’t have been to Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang either, because she had no accent. Besides, there was no one by the name of Aslan teaching at either of those schools. He’d checked.

In fact, Tom had researched high and low, checking everything from tiny nearby Magical Institutions to the far off new American school, looking specifically for the names Susan Pevensie and Aslan. The second was more irritating, because the girl hadn’t let slip if Aslan was a first or last name. At least there was no way it could have been only a nickname, to have a resonance like that.

He’d found nothing.

Tom gave a huff as he arrived at the Slug Club meeting with a box of crystallized pineapple for that idiot Slughorn. That girl was nothing anyway, and he had to set his mind to more important and profitable things.

Such as finding out whether he could safely make another Horcrux.

“Tom, my boy!” The fat man called out as Tom walked into the already crowded office. “Is that more pineapple for me? You shouldn’t have!”

Thoughts of Susan were abandoned as Tom gave a charming smile, the one he knew made many of the girls swoon. “Oh, but I wanted to,” he said. “Anything for my favorite Professor.”

He was in his element now. Tom strode confidently into the room, alongside the man he knew had the information that he wanted.


	11. Eleventh

By some wonderful stroke of luck, the first really beautiful, sunny days of the year fell just as Easter Break began. As a result, there were many schoolchildren stretching their legs and soaking up the sun outside on the streets in the town of Little Hangleton. This also happened to provide lots of cover for one handsome, dark-haired boy that didn’t want to be seen. No one paid him any attention as he walked up the street to a little hovel halfway between the humble little town and the pompous Riddle House. No one saw him slip through the ramshackle door.

Even if anyone had seen the boy, followed him to the house, and listened at the crack in the door, they wouldn’t have been able to understand the strange hissing that could be heard from inside. Then there were a couple of loud, but muffled, thumps.

Tom Marvolo Riddle exited the dirt-hole of a house his ancestors had called a home, sneering as he went. Modifying Morfin’s memory had been easier than expected. The buffoon hadn’t even thought to raise his wand in defense, and had given him all the information he needed to know. He left the door gaping open like a giant mouth; the dead snake still hanging from it resembled a limp tongue.

Tom shoved aside brush as he passed, ignoring the prickers that scraped at his hands like snake fangs. He stepped back onto the road and continued on his way, up to the big old Riddle House where his father still lived. Filth. 

There. The mansion stood tall and grand in the glaring sun of the afternoon. Tom slunk among the shadows for as long as he could before stepping out into the open front gardens of the house. He didn’t disguise himself or make himself invisible. Tom wanted these Muggles to know exactly who was going to kill them today.

The front door was unlocked, and opened smoothly when he pushed it. Tom smirked to himself as he ghosted through the hall. All three of the Riddles were sitting at their fancy dining table eating a late lunch. Tom paused, unnoticed, in the doorway. It was obvious the younger man was his father. They looked nearly exactly alike. The man before him had slightly darker skin than he, and shape of his face was more square than Tom’s own. His hair was also longer and styled. Beyond that, and the obvious signs of age Tom lacked, they could have been twins.

Apparently sensing the stare aimed her way, the old woman turned toward Tom, her face freezing in shock when she saw him standing there. The glass of water she was holding fell to the floor and shattered.

“Mum?” said Tom’s father, also turning to see what she was looking at. He gasped, and his face turned the color of the whitewashed walls. 

“Who are you, son?” The question was directed to Tom from the eldest man. Tom didn’t know his name, and didn’t care to find out what it was. His anger rose inside him like the basilisk waiting to strike.

“You,” Tom said, staring straight into his father’s eyes, “abandoned me. I am simply here to repay you.”

“I never abandoned--”

“I am the son of Tom Riddle and Merope Gaunt.” Tom interrupted him. “Don’t lie to me, Muggle. Lord Voldemort always knows.”

There was a ringing moment of silence.

“You’re insane,” Mrs. Riddle murmured.

Tom raised his wand. “Avada Kedavra.”

.

May 28. There was no way Susan was doing anything on May 28. She stayed in her room with the door shut and didn’t answer it, no matter how much they knocked.

Her family had gone for a train ride without her on May 28. Exactly one year ago.

The door creaked open slowly.

“Susan?” It was Louise. Susan turned away, toward the widow and the cloudy sky.

“Go away.”

Instead, the girl crept up toward her and climbed on the bed. “Why are you so sad today, Susan?”

“Go away!” Susan said louder, pushing Louise off the bed.

“But I just wanted to--”

“Leave me alone, Louise. Go play with the others.”

The little girl was obviously hurt, but Susan was too busy remembering her family and feeling sorry for herself to care much. The door closed behind her.

Susan grabbed Lucy’s journal and hugged it to herself. If only, if only, if only. She sighed, and flopped back on the bed.


	12. Twelfth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha... it's been a bit, hasn't it? Starting off college has put a bit of a damper on my writing time. Sorry about that to anyone who's still here, but I hope you enjoy the update!

That summer the weather was unbearably hot. Everyone tried to stay in the shade under the trees, as the stuffy orphanage smelled like sweat and felt like an oven. The old tutor who taught lessons, Mr. Livre, never came in the summer; at the end of the spring, he sent word to the orphanage that he had retired and wouldn’t be returning. While Louise, Christopher, and the others were overjoyed to be unexpectedly free of this burden, Susan despaired for the state of their learning. She didn’t know what she was going to do with them all come September. With no schoolwork, muggy heat, and little to do, all the children were bored, hot, and listless.  


Susan was all of these as well, until she finally let Augusta drag her to the library.  


“I promise you’ll love it,” was all her friend would say. Susan hoped that the mischievous expression she caught on Augusta’s face was only a trick of the light.  
All the leaves on the trees were unfurled in the sunshine as they walked, though Susan couldn’t quite enjoy the day as much as she wanted to because of the oppressive heat. It seemed to flow in translucent waves that constantly weighed her down and squeezed sweat from her skin. She and Augusta hurried along the sidewalk from shadow to shadow, standing in the shade for a while before moving on again.  


At one point, the two girls walked passed a tavern. There weren’t many men there so early in the day, but two men old enough to be their fathers whistled as the girls went by. Susan glanced at Augusta meaningfully, and they rushed out of sight of the pub.  


“They were whistling at you,” said Augusta. “You’re so pretty, Susan. I bet you won’t have any trouble finding a wealthy husband to support you when you get out of here.”  


“They could just have easily been looking at you,” Susan pointed out, currently envying Augusta’s light, thin hair. Her own dark and thick hair made it feel like a hot blanket was draped over her head. “Besides, I want more than money anyway.” She shuddered, thinking of Rabadash, a handsome, bloodthirsty prince she’d briefly fallen for. Aslan had turned him into a donkey, and he had deserved it too. “I want someone who loves me for who I am.”  


Augusta giggled. “That’s all well and good, but I wouldn’t say no to a handsome face along with it. Have you seen Dickon?”  


“I’ve seen a boy a year older than you who likes to flirt and isn’t good at much else.”  


“Oh stop it, Susan!” Augusta swatted at Susan’s arm. “He’s so handsome. And he’s going to be a politician when he grows up. Don’t you think he’s amazing?”  


Susan rolled her eyes. “I think he’s got all the girls his age and younger eating out of the palm of his hand. He’s a year and a half younger than me, the same as Jack! I think he’s arrogant.”  


“You’ll never change, Susan.” Augusta sighed. “Oh look! We’re almost there!”  


Susan peered ahead with Augusta, trying to spot the building Augusta always snuck off to. Augusta pointed, and Susan saw a large and square brick building with dim windows and a sign hanging above the door that read: Public Library. Three wide steps led up to the door.  


Augusta ran up the steps ahead of her and pulled the door open. Susan followed her in.  


Her first impression was of a large, quiet room smelling of paper and dust. Perhaps a dozen tall wooden shelves filled the space, crammed with books of every shape and size. There were two wooden tables set up as well farther into the room. A sturdy desk to her right was piled high with books, and an old woman in a dress ten years out of date sat behind them, scribbling something on a piece of paper. Several others browsed the shelves; Susan saw an old man in a tall hat leaning on his cane and stroking his mustache thoughtfully, and a younger couple leaning over a book about babies at a table in the far corner.  


“C’mon,” Augusta whispered to Susan, pulling her over the threshold. The old woman looked up at them.  


“Hello, girl. Brought another one, have you?” The words were spoken more gruffly than Susan had expected.  


“She loves to read, Mrs. Rooks,” Augusta said defensively. “Susan, this is Mrs. Rooks. She’s in charge of the library. Mrs. Rooks, Susan Pevensie.”  


“Pleasure to meet you,” Susan said politely, holding out her hand.  


Mrs. Rooks didn’t shake it. She gave Susan an appraising look, and nodded once. “Don’t make too much noise, don’t take books out for more than a week, and always sign for the book you’ve taken. If you lose one, steal one, or harm one, no more taking them out of the building. You do it again, you don’t come back.”  


Susan let her hand fall. Augusta stepped in front of Susan and smiled brightly at the woman. “Susan understands the rules, of course. Thank you, Mrs. Rooks!”  


The librarian’s sour face softened into what might have been a smile when she looked at Augusta. “You’re welcome, girl. Now go find some books and get out of my sight.”  


Augusta simply gave another dazzling smile and dragged Susan behind the shelves, steering her to the back of the room.  


Susan was still a little stunned. “Mrs. Rooks is a little…” she couldn’t find the word, but Augusta understood.  


“Her husband died in the war,” Augusta whispered confidentially. “He’s the one who started the library in the first place.”  


“How old was he?” Susan asked, surprised. Surely Mrs. Rooks would have had a husband that was too old to fight!  


“He was fifty two I think. He might have lied on the form because I’m not sure they would have let him in otherwise. He liked me.”  


“You knew him?”  


“Of course,” Augusta sounded a little miffed. “I’ve been walking to this library since I was eight. Mrs. Rooks is fifty six now. She’s known me for almost seven years.”  


“Wow,” Susan whispered.  


Augusta shrugged and inspected the books lined up on the tall shelf they were standing behind. “Here, I’ll show you around. We’re standing in the biography section right now, but nobody likes to read these boring things. Let’s go look at the fiction books on those two shelves over there.”  


She seized Susan’s elbow and led her again to another set of shelves.  


The girls had a lot of fun looking for books and showing their discoveries to each other. For her part, Augusta went around and picked up all her favorite books. She chose only three for herself, but didn’t stop stacking the tomes in Susan’s arms until Susan pointed out that she only had a week to read whatever Augusta gave her. Augusta pouted, but helped her put enough books back so that Susan held a more manageable sum of two books to check out. With her five “children” hounding her for entertainment at all hours of the day, Susan didn’t know if she’d even finish one.  


.  


Tom, the wizened old bartender of the famous Leaky Cauldron, watched the handsome young man out of the corner of his eye. The lad, who said his name was also Tom, had come to him just after Hogwarts had gotten out for the year.  


“I need a place to stay for a week,” the boy had said. “My folks are out of town until then. But the thing is--the thing is that I don’t have enough money to pay for a room.” His face had been a blend of hope and resignation. “But I can work here at the bar! I’ll earn my keep. It’s only for a week, and then you’ll be rid of me.” Seeing Tom begin to shake his head, the boy had continued quickly. “Will you at least give me one day to try? If you don’t want to keep me on, then I’ll leave after that. But I don’t really have another place lined up at the moment, and…” he trailed off.  


“Alright,” Tom finally muttered gruffly. “I’ll give you a day. Put your stuff in the back and I’ll show you what to do.”  


Tom had told the lad he could serve customers for a bit and see how it went. He was reluctant to do even that, but the kid looked so innocent and lost he didn’t have the heart to get rid of him right off the bat. Tom expected to have to send him away, as not many seventeen-year-old Hogwarts boys could handle working in the sometimes rough and tumble environment of the bar.  


Instead, the lad had surprised him. He was polite and charming, but forceful when need be, and he was extraordinarily talented at convincing customers to buy another drink or stay for the night. Even when they weren’t buying, the boy held pleasant conversations with the passersby. Tom gave the kid a job without any more questions.  


He would make a great salesman, or maybe a politician, Tom decided. He was handsome, polite, and had a way with people. He was also quick-witted, and could spot and stop the troublemakers a mile away. Tom didn’t know if the bar had ever been so popular, and told the boy so.  


At the end of the week, the kid politely thanked Tom for his hospitality and extra pay, and then walked out the door. Tom assumed he had gone to stay with his family for the rest of the summer, figuring they must have been gone on some sort of business trip later than expected and accidentally left their child stranded. Besides, it wasn’t as if he never saw the kid again. He often walked through the bar to Diagon Alley or stopped by for a drink with some friends. Tom never thought there was anything to worry about.  


Unbeknownst to the bartender, Tom Riddle was not an average, if charming, Hogwarts student. No, Tom Riddle did not have a family, a house, or even true friends. What he did have was cunning, a handsome face, and a deep streak of cruelty.  
So Tom Riddle used his off time during the week at the Leaky Cauldron to make shady contacts in Knockturn Alley. He scouted around in Muggle London for a place to stay that would believe he was eighteen with no questions asked and ignore him leaving at all hours of the day and night, returning later with stacks of books or strange bottles and jars.  


Mysterious and dark magical experiments went on in the little wooden room that Tom Riddle rented. Had the Ministry of Magic still had the Trace on him, there is no doubt he would have been arrested.  


When Tom returned to Hogwarts at the end of the summer, some of his associates looked at him oddly. He glared at them.  


Nevertheless, it spread around the Slytherin dorms that something was different about Tom Riddle. And the stone ring, the one he had worn with such pride the previous spring, was nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback and ideas are always appreciated!


	13. Thirteenth

“SLYTHERIN!” The green and silver-clad table to his left burst into applause. The girl broke into a wide grin and hurried off to her new House. A boy she had met on the train was already sitting there, smiling happily and giving her a thumbs up.

“Well done,” Abraxas Malfoy told her, “I knew we’d both get in.”

“Thanks!” she said. “I’m glad the test was so easy. Dad thought I might be a Ravenclaw, but I got the Hat to put me here in the end.”

“Well, everyone knows Slytherin is the best House in the school,” Abraxas said pompously. “We’ve even got the Head Boy this year.”

The girl looked around, shrugging her lank black hair out of her eyes. “Where is he?”

“Over there, talking to the Bloody Baron.”

Sure enough, the girl followed her friend’s pointing finger to a tall, handsome boy talking to the Slytherin House ghost. The boy’s hair was dark brown, almost black, and a shiny badge with a golden embossed ‘H’ on it gleamed upon his chest.

“Wow,” the girl giggled.

Abraxas rolled his eyes just as another new Slytherin joined them at the table. It was a girl with sparkly brown eyes, a heart-shaped face, and just the right amount of freckles. Her curly blonde hair looked a little mussed after wearing the Sorting Hat.

“My name’s Amber Fortescue,” she smiled, showing a dimple on her cheek. 

“Abraxas Malfoy.” The blonde boy shook hands with Amber across the table. The first girl only scowled, looking a bit angrily at Amber for stealing the attention of her friend. Amber was undeniably cute, pretty, and perky, she could already tell. It was exactly the opposite of what she herself was like, and the girl didn’t appreciate the reminder.

“I’m so excited to learn to fly,” Amber was saying, bouncing up and down in her seat. “My Mum has never gotten me a broom, but I’ve always wanted to try one.”

“Father said the flying lessons would start two or three weeks into the school year,” Abraxas told her. “I don’t think I’ve gone so long without flying in years.”

“You must already be an expert!” Amber groaned. “Would you mind giving me a few pointers? I’d hate to die on my first try!”

Abraxas grinned. “Sure.”

The conversation rocketed back and forth between the two like a tennis match. Neither one of them thought to ask the skinny, sallow, black-haired girl what she thought. Neither one noticed when the third member of their party slipped off the bench and made her way down the table to where the Head Boy was still sitting.

The girl approached more and more cautiously the closer she got, until she was shyly standing a few feet away from him. The Head Boy turned and saw here there, and red splotches rose across the girl’s face up to the roots of her hair. It certainly wasn’t a pretty pink blush dusting her cheeks like Amber would’ve had.

“Did you want something?” he asked her smoothly. His eyes were sharp and piercing.

“I--I wanted to know if--” she trailed off.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to know if you would teach me how to brew potions.” Then the girl slapped her hands over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say it so abruptly. There was no way he would say yes just like that!

The Head Boy raised an eyebrow. “Teaching Potions is what Professor Slughorn is here for, not me.”

“I know,” said the girl, “but I’m ahead of my class. My Dad has been teaching me at home, and we’ve already gotten through half the textbook. I think potions are fascinating, and I was wondering if you could help me learn more advanced ones, or find someone else to help me, since you’re Head Boy and all.”

The boy looked into her eyes carefully. The silence between the first year girl and the seventh year boy lasted so long that she was about to turn away in disappointment when he spoke. 

“I will teach you potions if you promise not to bother me while I do it.”

The girl’s shoulders relaxed and a crooked smile lit her face. It wasn’t a pretty smile, but it showed even rows of white teeth, and it filled up the girl’s thin face. Intelligent eyes sparkled under her dark eyebrows.

“Thank you so much! You won’t regret it, Mr…”

“Tom,” he told her. “My name is Tom Riddle.” And if there was a hint of disgust at the name, the girl didn’t notice it.

“My name is Eileen Prince.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Eileen Prince.”

The Head Boy and the first year shook hands.

.

On the same warm August morning that the local London children began lessons, Susan Pevensie was called to Mrs. Cole’s office. The window was wide open to try to coax in some sort of breeze and Mrs. Cole was seated at the chair behind her desk. That didn’t surprise Susan. What did surprise her were the two other small children in the room.

They appeared to be roughly one year old, one in pink and the other in blue. Susan assumed they were twins, a girl and a boy, and shut the door quietly behind her just as the boy picked up a small paperweight and tried to take a bite out of it. Mrs. Cole pulled it from his grasp and he began to tremble and sniffle, threatening tears and a fit. Mrs. Cole gave back the paperweight.

“Susan Pevensie,” the woman sighed. “These two were left on the doorstep early this morning. They are too young to be left alone, and I have other work to do besides watching two one-year-olds all day long.” Mrs. Cole glanced at her, and Susan gulped and stared back. She could guess where this was going…  
“I am placing you, as the oldest girl currently in the orphanage, in charge of these children.”

Susan stared at the children, then at Mrs. Cole, incredulously. “Please, Madam,” she said, “I’m only seventeen years old. I’ve no idea how to--”

She was cut off my Mrs. Cole snorting. “I’ve known girls your age who were mothers themselves. You’ll learn. They’re apparently somewhere between one and two , so we’ll say their birthday’s probably around the end of January. All you’ll have to do is get some food into them each day and change their diapers until they can be toilet-trained. Can you do it?”

“I--” Susan desperately wanted to say, ‘No, no I can’t. I already have two practically adopted children, plus three more that I watch at any given hour of the day, thanks very much. Hand them off to the next person.’ But she was stopped by a loud crash. The boy had dropped his paperweight off the desk and it had left a scrape mark on the floor. His twin woke up from where she had been lightly dozing and began to cry. Once she started, the boy joined in, and the ear-splitting shrieks of startled one-year-olds spilled out onto the street through the open window. 

Mrs. Cole handed the girl to Susan and took the boy for herself, rocking him gently and patting his back. Susan, taking her cue, did the same. Eventually the twins were calmed enough that Susan could speak without having to shout.

Before she could say anything, Mrs. Cole handed her the boy as well so that Susan was holding one twin on each arm. “The girl’s name is Marlene, and the boy’s is Maxwell.” Mrs. Cole informed her. “Thank you for your help.” Then she ushered Susan and the twins right out the door, closing it behind them.

Susan stared apprehensively at the children she was holding. Sure, she had seen toddlers before, and she had even helped her mother with Edmund and Lucy, but that had been years ago! Susan had seldom taken care of a baby in Narnia either, because Lucy was a natural with them. And now she was suddenly being thrust head on into taking care of twins alone?

Not knowing what else to do, she took the twins up to her room, where Mrs. Cole had already had someone drop off the half-assembled parts of a ramshackle crib. Susan set the kids on her bed and began fitting the remaining pieces together until the structure stood up in the corner with a flimsy little mattress covering the hard bottom.

Susan returned to the bed and scooped up the boy, Maxwell, as if he were a bomb about to explode. She carefully deposited him into the crib without incident, and turned back for Marlene. The girl had opened her huge green eyes and was staring at Susan.

“You’re awake,” Susan murmured softly, picking up the baby and sitting on the bed with her. “And not screaming at me this time either. I guess that’s an improvement, huh?”

Marlene blinked up at her. Then she began to smile, and Susan smiled back. “This isn’t so hard after all, is it?”

They sat smiling at each other for a minute before Susan started to smell something funny. Something funny, coming from the baby she was holding…  
“Eew, Marlene!” She cried, standing up quickly. “Let’s go find you a clean diaper in the laundry room while we wash that one!”

Marlene giggled, agreeing happily.

Susan sighed and pulled the door open and started to step out of the door when suddenly something occurred to her. She couldn’t leave a young child here all alone, even if he was sleeping right now. She remembered that much from when Lucy had been little. But then, how was she supposed to change Marlene?

“Susan? Where’re you--aww! Who’s this?” It was Augusta, loitering at the top of the stairs with a new book that she had undoubtedly just checked out from the library.

Susan sighed in relief. “This is Marlene. I’ve been delegated the task of looking after her and her twin brother Maxwell for an indefinite amount of time. I don’t suppose you’d like to help monitor him while I find a clean diaper for Marlene? He’s sleeping in my room right there.”

“I don’t know…” Augusta glanced down at her book, then over at the crib in the corner. 

“Please?” Susan begged. “Just read your book in here. He’s asleep; it won’t be hard. I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.”

“Well, alright,” Augusta relented. “But don’t stay away for long. I don’t think babies like me very much.”

Susan smiled, nodded, and made her way down to the basement, where the washing equipment and emergency clothes were kept. Susan had seen diapers down there before, and hoped she would be able to find them now.

As soon as she reached the basement, Susan managed to trip just perfectly over a stray broom on the floor. Clutching Marlene closer, she stumbled over to a pile of (hopefully) clean laundry and set the girl down on top of it before any further accidents could happen. Then she surveyed the room.

The walls were gray and concrete, as was the floor. Several piles of laundry were stacked haphazardly around the room, along with the broom she had tripped over, a metal dustpan, a crate, and an old, dusty shelf sagging under the weight of some jars of dubious content. The corner space under the stairs, which was dark and full of cobwebs, seemed like the best place to begin her search.

Carefully, Susan picked her way over to the dark little closet. It was nearly half her height, and looked almost like a hole in the wall leading out into the garden at midnight, except Susan knew for a fact that she was well inside the orphanage and it was daytime upstairs. She stuck her head in to peer around.

“No! Oh, yuck,” she spluttered. Her face had met a sticky cobweb, and Susan frantically tried to brush it off and stand up, forgetting the lowering staircase above her head. The resulting thunk was heard by Marlene, who began to whimper. Susan finally managed to straighten up, muttering garbled words of annoyance and rubbing the back of her head, just as Marlene’s upset hiccups became real sobs.

Inwardly cursing herself, Susan reached in again and made a grab for the stack of diapers sitting innocently in the corner of the little cave under the stairs. By the time she emerged to find her way back over to the baby, Susan was sure there were cobwebs in her hair, on her dress, and all over the diapers she had managed to get. Awkwardly lifting the child into her arms, Susan maneuvered her around until she was cradling her. Marlene continued to wail. Susan sat on the hard floor and began rocking back and forth. She even tried humming an old nursery rhyme, but nothing seemed to work. 

“Hush, Marlene!” Susan muttered. “Do you not like the laundry room? We’ll go up the stairs with you.”

Armed with diapers in one hand and the baby in the other, Susan staggered up three flights of stairs to her room. The other children were all in their rooms or outside, and she didn’t run into any of the few who were still around to help.

As she approached her door, Marlene’s crying seemed to become inexplicably louder and louder. When she finally entered, Susan understood why.  
Augusta was standing helplessly in the middle of the room. For all her usual confidence, the girl looked completely lost when faced with a crying little one-year-old boy.

“What’s going on?” Susan yelled over the racket.

“He woke up!” Augusta shrieked back unhelpfully. “I told you babies don’t like me!”

Susan placed the still-smelly Marlene on the bed and plucked Maxwell out of the crib. Bouncing him gently up and down, she turned back to Augusta.  
“Marlene’s settled down a little,” she said in a quieter voice, “do you want to try and change her, or hold Maxwell while I do it?”

Her friend shot a panicked look between the two children before settling her gaze on the calmer and less stinky one in Susan’s arms. “I’ll take Maxwell,” she said.  
Susan nodded and handed him over. Then she turned to stare at the diapers and Marlene. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever changed a diaper before?” She asked hopefully.

Augusta shook her head. “You’re on your own, my friend.”

Luckily for Susan, the diaper was fairly easy to understand. She paid close attention as she removed the old soiled one, which gave her a good idea on how to put on the clean one. While she worked, Augusta contributed by making gagging sounds at every opportunity and holding Maxwell as if he was a bomb about to explode.

Maxwell started squirming after a minute. Augusta shifted and tried to get a better grip on the wiggly baby. “Susan, what do I do?”

“I don’t know! Put him in the crib.”

“Oh.” Augusta gratefully set Maxwell down in the crib, where he began happily sucking on the corner of an old blanket.

“Done.” Susan held up Marlene in her diaper for Augusta to see.

“I think it might be on backwards.”

“Nope,” Susan declared. “This was hard enough. If it’s backwards, Marlene will just have to deal with it until she needs it changed again.”

Augusta laughed.  
.


	14. Fourteenth

It wasn’t long before frost began to cover everything at Hogwarts in a fuzzy white film that melted in the sunlight. Eileen Prince couldn’t decide whether she was miserable or having the time of her life. On one hand, her only allies in the whole first year were Amber Fortescue and Abraxas Malfoy, who had formed a duo so close that a secret betting pool was running on whether or not they’d get married. They had little time for Eileen anymore, and weren’t bothered whether she was with them or not. On the other hand….

“Hello, Eileen.” 

“Hi Tom,” she smiled as he passed her in the hall. He was still tutoring her in potions, and Eileen was improving by leaps and bounds thanks to him. He also happened to be the only one in school, save the teachers, who was really actually kind to her, and Eileen wished she could thank him properly. The problem was that she always ended up blushing madly whenever she tried to have a decent conversation with him.

Lost in her thoughts, Eileen didn’t notice the other person coming as she rounded the corner, and they smashed right into each other.

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, hurrying to pick up the books that had scattered from her arms.

“Watch where you’re going, why don’t you?” 

Hearing the voice, Eileen slowly raised her eyes and met the gaze of Aquarius Clearwater. Her heart sank. The large Gryffindor’s hat had fallen off, ruffling his already messy brown hair, and his dark eyes were glaring at her furiously. She’d been avoiding him altogether after he’d hit Amber hard enough to bruise on the third day of term. 

“Sorry,” she said again, and attempted to scuttle away. 

Aquarius’s hand shot out and grabbed her as she went past, twisting her shoulder painfully. “Leaving so soon, Ugly?” he sneered.

“Stop it!” she cried. His fat fingers closed tighter around her arm.

He just laughed. “Stop what, Slytherin scum?” Then, “I heard that you’re so ugly your Mum didn’t want you. Is it true?”

“No! Leave me alone, you--you--” she couldn’t think of a suitable word for this hunk of lard. She tried to twist away, and her books fell to the floor again.

“Aww, did the poor little Snake drop her precious books?” he crooned in a horrible baby voice. “They’re your only friends, aren’t they?”

_Tom is my friend, and so are Abraxas and Amber, you vomitous example of the flaws in humanity!_ Eileen tried to communicate her thoughts through her glare, but Aquarius obviously didn’t get the message. Instead, he kicked her Charms book away and shook her a little, still laughing. “Well?”

“What is going on here?” There was a bang, and his hand finally let go as they were thrown apart. Eileen breathed a sigh of relief. Then she looked up at her rescuer.

It was Professor Dumbledore, the Transfiguration teacher. Tall and thin, he had dark red hair that went down to his waist and a beard that was only just shorter. His bright blue eyes seemed to gleam with anger. “I repeat,” he said mildly, though his face was stern, “What is going on here?”

“Uh…” Aquarius, while skilled in the art of bullying, was apparently not nearly clever enough to form and excuse when caught in the act. “That is….”

“We were just talking, Professor,” Eileen jumped in. Two pairs of eyes snapped to her, one in surprise and the other in skepticism. “He was asking about my Mum, you see. I get a little homesick sometimes from not seeing her for so long.” Aquarius nodded importantly. Prat.

“Very well,” said Dumbledore slowly. He was still staring at her with a piercing gaze. She nodded firmly, and he finally pulled his eyes from hers.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Dumbledore said. “Though I suggest you get to class soon.” He turned. “And if you ever need to discuss anything, my door is always open,” he called back over his shoulder.

Aquarius turned to her as the clicking of Dumbledore’s high-heeled boots faded down the corridor. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, Eileen hit him with one of her Father’s favorite jinxes. Bat-boogies swarmed his face, and he yelped a little. She cast again, and his legs turned to jelly. He fell to the floor.

“Listen to me, Aquarius Clearwater,” she hissed. “You tell anyone what happened here, and I will go cry to Dumbledore that you’ve been bullying helpless little Slytherin girls like me. You come after me again, and I’ll do something worse.” She raised her wand pointedly and he nodded, his eyes wide.

“Goodbye,” she hissed, “you halfblooded son of a Mudblood and a whore.”

Then she turned and left, without waiting for a response. She wondered how long it would take for someone to find him. Then, Eileen realised that she didn’t really care.

That felt good.

.

Hogwarts wasn’t the only place where the cold was creeping up on people. September gave way to October as Susan’s days settled into a new pattern. Augusta had left for her fancy boarding school again, which left few people for Susan to talk to. She nearly always got up to the sounds of one or both of the twins crying in the morning, which wasn’t a pleasant wake-up call to say the least. Susan thanked Aslan they at least slept through the nights. After that, she would drag all three of them down to breakfast where she served herself the same plain oatmeal mush as the kids. Mary, Jack’s crush, usually sat with her, which meant Jack did as well. He would often amuse the rest of them with clever card tricks.

Once breakfast was over, Susan would head back upstairs to her room with Maxwell and Marlene, as well as Louise, Christopher, and sometimes the others trailing along as well. There Susan endeavored to continue teaching them their letters and arithmetic while she kept an eye on the twins toddling around and ‘drawing’ their own pictures.

After lunch, Susan usually left the twins with Mary, who loved small children, and did chores with the other older children. She’d eventually get dragged outside to play with Christopher and Louise, (“You can do chores some other time, Mummy,”) and most often she was a strange mixture of game inventor, cheerleader, and referee. Mary sometimes took the twins outside too so they could get some fresh air walking around and fussing in the grass and dirt. 

After dinner was storytime, the occasional bathtime, and (Susan’s personal favorite) bedtime.

One day near the end of October, Susan, Mary, and Louise were taking the twins for a walk. Trees planted in front yards and between houses were beginning to turn red, orange, and yellow, standing out brightly against the gray sky. The breeze was chilly, and everyone’s noses had turned pink with the cold. 

Susan clutched Maxwell a little closer and shivered. “It’s cold out here. Shall we head back?”

“I’m all for that,” agreed Mary, who was carrying Marlene. 

“Me too,” said Louise. “At least you have those warm little kids to keep the cold off you. I’m freezing!” The twins giggled.

Susan rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Since you’re so big, you can hold this little kid if you like.”

“No thanks,” Lousie giggled.

There was a long silence while they turned and headed back in the direction of the orphanage. Susan knew she wouldn’t have many more days like this. Her eighteenth birthday was in two weeks, and after that she would have to fend for herself without the orphanage. Maybe she could go back to her old house… except she hadn’t been there since that dreadful week after she’d learned her family was all dead. At least as a legal adult, she would be able to claim all the savings her parents had left behind. She could pay her way to the house and live there for a while, maybe, and find a job doing… something. Teaching perhaps, or she could become a librarian like Mrs. Rooks. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something. Susan imagined sitting behind an old desk piled high with books until she was a wrinkled old maid and sighed.

“What’s the matter?” Mary asked.

Susan glanced down at Maxwell in her arms. “I was just thinking about what will happen when I come of age. Mrs. Cole asked to see me today. I think that’s what it’s about.”

Louise stared up at her. “What do you mean?”

“My birthday is coming up this month. I can’t very well stay in a children’s orphanage after I turn eighteen, can I?”

“I didn’t realize…” Mary trailed off. “How can we help? There’s got to be some way to let you stay. Otherwise we’ll help you look for jobs or something.”

“We’ll sneak you food out of the dining area if you can’t get any,” Louise suggested.

“Thanks,” Susan blushed, “but you don’t need to--”

“Of course we do,” Mary interrupted. “We’re your friends!”

Louise gave her a little hug as they walked. “Just make sure you come visit,” she whispered. “Will you still be my Mummy when you go?”

Susan knelt down next to the little girl that had pulled her out of depression and despair. “Always, Louise.” 

Louise sniffled and shook while Susan held her tight.

“How are we going to make the twins understand?” Mary sighed.

The three girls looked down at the nearly two-year-old twins. Marlene was laughing at a single small snowflake that had fallen on her cheek. Maxwell was nearly asleep, thumb in his mouth. 

Susan didn’t know what she was going to do without them.


End file.
